Arendelle-255
by IceWraith
Summary: Somewhere at the far reaches of the galaxy sits the lone planet of Arendelle-255. Known as the planet of perpetual winter, it's sparsely populated and filled with danger. Among its inhabitants is Kristoff Bjorgman, harvesting precious Arendellian Ice. A day comes when Kristoff's life takes an unexpected turn. Rated T for ghastly creatures, language & adult themes. [Kristanna]
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:**

 **Standard disclaimer: I don't own Frozen or any of its characters. Disney owns the rights to these. This is a non-profit work of fan fiction. The only thing that belongs to me are the creepy creatures I've come up with, the general plot, and the futuristic elements populating this world/galaxy.**

 **As my standard policy, I'm not going to over label this work. If you truly suffer from triggers of any kind, and can't tolerate reading anything that pushes you out of your comfort zone, then stop right here. That's not to say that that this story will or won't have any of those elements ... but if you come at me with something like (using a random off-the-wall example) an Olaf/Gerda pairing is a trigger for me, I'm just going to ignore you. (And the reason I'm writing this is because of the flak I received from my last posting).**

 **I'd like to thank Concolor44 for taking the time to look this over. Please don't send him hate mail if you didn't like my story (again, writing this because of what happened with my last posting). Also, thanks to Cattleworks (not involved with fan fiction at all, but a multi-talented artist and college friend) for reviewing this, too.**

 **Lastly, this is a Kristanna story. I don't have an OTP and write and read all kinds of stories with various pairings. I've never written a multi-chapter story before. Expect infrequent updates.**

* * *

 ** _Arrival_**

Arendelle-255. It was the lone planet in its solar system. The early eBooks simply described it as an earth-sized celestial body on the outskirts of the galaxy, located just close enough to its sun to make it habitable.

Habitable? For whom? Summers were bitterly cold, but winters? They were beyond awful. So the term " _habitable_ " was definitely up for debate, at least that's what Kristoff Bjorgman thought.

He scanned the arctic landscape before him—raw and desolate, with pockets of drifting snow and tinted blue ice. If not for the many geothermal formations spotting the planet, survival would have been near impossible … at least without some serious tech.

Maneuvering for position, Kristoff's hand roughly grazed over the synthetic blue-gray material of his heavily insulated parka as he slipped it on. He then gathered his goggles, wool hat and gloves. The gloves, a dusky gray and worn by use, were so threadbare that his skin was almost showing through. He figured he'd have to spring for a new pair soon, very soon. In the meantime, he wrapped some insulating tape around the more worn portions just to get by.

Grand Pabbie had always emphasized that he should maintain his personal effects, and Kristoff did, but with the considerable expense of the utility robot around the corner he was short on credits and had to walk that tightrope between buying what he wanted and buying what he needed.

When he was properly suited, he bent down to pick up his battered toolkit, feeling its heft, and exited the cab of the snowcat. Outside, familiar frozen fields of white surrounded him with the exception of an azure haze not too far off in the distance. He muttered a curse as the first bite of cold assaulted his body.

That haze was his destination for the night. It was one of the many geothermal _oases_ spotting the planet, and he knew that this one had a hot spring just perfect for soaking. He could hardly wait to sink into the languid warmth, already anticipating the revitalizing heat that could rejuvenate him to the core. It wasn't often that he could bask in such luxuries.

As it was, these geothermal oases provided a reprieve from the arctic-like cold for the indigenous lifeforms as well as its extraterrestrial visitors, like Kristoff. It was amazing how vegetation abounded within their confines. Verdant trees, draped in photoluminescent blue moss, would sporadically rise from the ground. The trees seldom grew very tall due to the frigid atmosphere, with rare exceptions, but combined with the moss, made welcome and dramatic beacons that signaled sanctuary for travelers on the open tundra.

Kristoff grunted as he wandered over the variable terrain consisting of snow, rock and ice. "I'll have you fixed in no time, buddy!" he proclaimed through clenching teeth. He heard a contented bellow over his headset in response and smiled.

The moss and trees weren't the only flora harbored in these sanctuaries. Scattered throughout each hot spring refuge, tracts of multi-colored flowers, reminiscent of Old Earth's crocuses, could often be seen blossoming in narrow swaths or clustered around steaming vents. Bushes laden with azure berries typically gathered nearby and on their periphery. In the summer, pink trumpet flowers could also be seen with huge blooms nearly a foot in length and glowing as pale as a white dwarf star. It almost made you forget what a harsh planet Arendelle-255 really was.

Footing forward and arriving at the damage, Kristoff pondered his bad luck. He was speeding toward his campsite when his snowcat, Sven, threw a track after hitting a hidden outcropping. He cursed again under his foggy, freezing breath as he hunkered down adjacent to the vehicle's idler. The utility robot on order sure would have come in handy here. Instead, he drew an electronic reader from his toolbox and called up Sven's service manual. Inspecting the damage and the manual, he reluctantly drew some parts from the spare parts bin located on either side of the cat. _Great, more stuff to buy when I get to the City._

Because he was so close to his immediate destination, gusts of wind carrying sparkling blue spore washed over the otherwise barren terrain. They formed dazzling motes as the wind danced and swirled around him while he worked diligently. It might have been magical if it wasn't so frigid or if he had actually been witnessing this for the first time. Another sudden bite of cold caused him to shudder. He clenched his teeth further to keep from chattering. _I can hardly wait to get the hell out of this hole._ Some day, when he had earned enough, he would leave this planet for good. It would take a lot of hard work and years of toil, but he knew he was up to the task.

Breaking the rubber lined alloy thread, the big man struggled to bring the track back into alignment. It was tedious work, requiring a fair amount of muscle and even some welding. _Why do you live like this?_ he asked himself. _Oh, yeah, Ice._ Harvesting ice was how he made his living.

Of course, ice here was hardly ordinary. Ice on Arendelle was different, very different.

The moss was at the epicenter of it all. At his destination and the other thermal glades, moss shrouding the trees made the areas eerily beautiful. When in bloom, they were the source of the brilliant blue spores and the reason why this planet was extra special. It was the symbiotic relationship between the moss and trees that helped both survive. With the frequent and abrupt temperature changes on the planet, the moss acted as an insulating barrier. Simultaneously, the trees allowed the moss to gain much needed height so that its spores could spread throughout the land. Faintly sparkling in the day and glowing brightly blue in the night, the resulting landscape punctuated the other-worldliness of Arendelle-255.

That other-worldliness was keenly evident at the moment, as a pocket of luminescent spores washed across his partially covered face and settled on the exposed skin—namely his cheeks and nose. Kristoff sneezed, wiping at the cerulean particles lining his nostrils. The spores had a tendency to cling to warmth and life. His clothing and gear remained relatively untainted.

Ancient legend had it that Ponce de León, an explorer from Old Earth, was forever searching for the _Fountain of Youth._ Kristoff knew this legend was a myth, but if it had been true, that explorer was certainly looking in the wrong place. The fountain, or to be more clear, water imbued with the properties of longevity, could only be found here on Arendelle-255.

That _magic_ came from the mold spores. The very same spores now clinging to his nose and cheeks, and that were unique to the planet. Others had tried to bring the moss offworld. They had even gone as far as to recreate the entire biosystem, but to no avail. Apparently, some elusive dependency existed which was necessary for the spores to function as an age-retarding agent. Furthermore, the spores couldn't be harvested directly. It was only when they consolidated with the very ice found scattered throughout the landscape that the life extending properties became leavened.

 _Arendellian Ice._ Kristoff harvested it by himself, and, for the most part, it was the way he liked it. In the past, he had had partners, but life here was rough and one too many times he caught his partner trying to swindle him … or sometimes they just couldn't hack the hardship and just gave up … or died an unpleasant death before they managed to figure that out. He winced at that last thought.

He had to admit he was jaded, although there were times when he did yearn for human companionship. Sven, his snowcat/AI construct, took the edge off that loneliness, keeping the ice-harvester sane during long treks. Still, it wasn't quite the same. He wondered if the utility robot scheduled to arrive tomorrow would add or detract from the nagging isolation that occasionally plagued him?

Having nearly completed his repairs, he asked Sven for a diagnostic report causing the snowcat to jog its tread back and forth as it collected information. "Area scan, Sven," Kristoff added. "Any signs of fog headed our way?"

"Nope," came the reply in that goofy, pitched whine now characteristic of Sven's voice. Kristoff shook his head. Sven hadn't always spoken that way. The module regulating his voice had gradually deteriorated to the point it sounded like a caricature. Eventually he was going to have to break down and upgrade it, but gloves first.

He scanned the horizon out of habit. You had to be careful when you were out on the tundra. Ice harvesting had more hazards than just the harsh climate and abject solitude; Arendelle-255 had its fair share of predators. If the climate didn't outright kill you, the fauna surely would.

Early in his career, he'd come face to face with the jötnar—an aggressive bipedal species characterized by their intimidating size and wild tufts of gray-green fur. A single jötun was terrifying—with its humongous insectoid eye, razor sharp teeth and saber-like talons—but a pack of them was the stuff of nightmares. Native to the planet, they roamed the tundra camouflaged by a cloud of self-generated fog. What made matters worse was that fog was a common phenomenon, often found surrounding the borderlands between the tundra and the geothermal hot spots. Sometimes, natural fog would even drift miles from a thermal oasis, depending on the prevailing winds. Travelers never knew if they were running into inclement weather, or some carnivorous horde.

The jötnar were believed, by some, to be intelligent. Kristoff had enough experience with them to count himself amongst those that did. In fact, he'd witnessed how they hunted in packs—they moved with uncanny coordination and precision—and he suspected that they were able to communicate through a form of telepathy.

For protection, he'd come to rely on a railgun. This modern day crossbow came in handy, providing the impact necessary to take down one of the giants. The key was to identify the alpha jötun, and take it out—never a trivial task in low visibility. The rest of the pack would jerk to a standstill when the alpha was dead … at least long enough to make for an escape. Kristoff figured it had something to do with the breaking of their telepathic link. The alpha was the linchpin holding that communication channel open.

Even worse, and perhaps more frightening, were the _ice wraiths._ Any traveler settling on an oasis had to be wary of caves, outcroppings or the very trees themselves. The ice wraiths could be found suspended from heights, waiting for prey to roam underneath. Their chameleon-like flesh had the consistency of something between a slug and jellyfish. Conical and about the size of a human's head, with a variety of ill-shapen protuberances, they blended well with their surroundings. After they attacked, their bodies would slowly expand and envelop its victim's head, while their coloring would change, typically taking on the mushy gray-red matter of the brain tissue they consumed. The attacks always proved fatal. An ice wraith's projectile beak would immediately burrow in and devour its prey's cerebrum, leaving behind only the most primitive portions as the wraith's neural tendrils emerged, attached and assimilated to the host's brain stem. From that point, it would abandon its enclave to search for a mate and breed. During its search, the wraith would emit a high pitched wail, a sound sourced from both assailant and host. The noise curdled the blood. Not even the jötnar were immune to an ice wraith's attack, although they would seldom venture very far into any thermal glade.

Kristoff had witnessed an ice-harvester turned wraith. She had been a newbie, naive, like so many, to the dangers of the planet. The sight of the wailing woman—her body distorted by the abomination settled over her head—would forever haunt him as she ran, caterwauling with a screeching orchestrated for the damned.

He burned her … it … with a flame thrower. The final scream almost sounded human. The stench of burnt flesh left yet another permanent imprint on his mind. He buried the charred remains under some rocks with a marker made of frozen wood.

And yet, in spite of all the dangers, here he was, pressing on, surviving, all because he hoped to get rich and one day live in luxury. Or was it that he just didn't want to spend his life in poverty?

Picking up his tools, he was satisfied that Sven was now in working order. "You're all set, buddy."

"Thank you!" came the reply and Kristoff worked his way back through the cold and into the cab, ready to make his way to tonight's encampment.

* * *

It was mildly chilly when he woke—so much better than the typical bitterly frigid air outside of the glade. He had picked a good spot, too, not far from the steaming spring where he had taken a relaxing bath after arriving. Sven was a few meters away, ever vigilant for intruders.

Arendelle City was a good two and a half hour haul from his current locale by snowcat. By now, Kristoff's stomach began to grumble, so he went about preparing breakfast for himself—canned beans and some dried jang-jeng meat pulled from his stores.

The meat was slightly sweet and plenty salty, but complimented the beans. He ate the beans straight from the can with a spoon, while the jang-jeng was laid out on a cloth he would later use for storage. With his food next to him, Kristoff sat on a large rock sipping on a cup of bitter coffee between bites. He savored the coffee's aroma even if the taste was less than ideal. Maybe when he got to Arendelle City, he'd treat himself to some better fare. But then he thought about his gloves and Sven's voice module, spare parts and all the other small repairs and necessary improvements he needed to make. He frowned.

Finishing off his meal quickly, he briefly walked over to the hot spring where he stretched his arms, soaking in the heat from the water for one last time. One might have thought he was perpetually starved for warmth the way he relished the steamy heat wafting over him. He wasn't certain when he'd have another opportunity to bask in such pleasant warmth. Soon afterwards and perhaps with some reluctance, he broke camp and climbed onboard Sven, ready to make his way toward the City.

"Oaken's? Really? Not Oaken's!" chimed Sven in that voice that sounded like it was coming from a bad ventriloquist. There was no mistaking the tone; it implied that Kristoff was an idiot.

"Look, I'm not an idiot. I didn't have much choice. He's the only one that does offworld imports."

"Wasn't this the same Oaken that supplied you with my voice module? 'Electronics of my own invention?' Huh? Remember how good that worked out? Huh?"

Kristoff nervously scratched the back of his head. "Aw, come on! That was a local product that Oaken made, not a robot import. 'Own invention …' Right? And besides, where else was I gonna order a utility robot from? _The Duke?_ He's an even bigger crook than Oaken."

"Hmpf."

"What? You know I need help out there on the ice. Besides, I'm getting a free box of suntan lotion with this deal." The way Oaken had played it up, it sounded like a big plus, but as soon as Kristoff uttered the words out loud he realized how stupid the whole thing really was. What was he thinking?

"Oh, yeah, that's almost as good as dance lessons with the Duke. Knock, knock … Arendelle-255? Planet of eternal winter. And, you know, you could just find another partner. Plus, I wouldn't be surprised if Oaken's just trying to offload toxic waste on some unsuspecting idi … umm, unfortunate. Think of how much money you'll be saving him in dumping fees!"

Kristoff groaned. "Sometimes, I hate you, Sven." Well, he didn't actually hate him, and the truth was that that was exactly like something Oaken would do. The giant of a man was always trying to push his surplus junk and spinning it as if it was some kind of bargain.

"Liar. You know you love me. I'm your best friend."

"You're a snowcat enhanced with A.I. How can _you_ be my best anything?"

"It's because you're a pathetic human. You're in awe of my superiority. Simple."

Kristoff imagined Sven grinning right about now, if he had actually been more than cleverly written code forming an elaborate neural network. "I _really_ do hate you sometimes."

The trip wasn't all that long, and they soon pulled into the outskirts of Arendelle City. It wasn't much of a city, per se, just a collection of outbuildings catering to the needs of ice-harvesters, like Kristoff, and off-worlders interested in purchasing said ice.

Most of the structures were built from _NanoCrete_ —done rapidly and cheaply to house their wares. The stuff, once programmed, practically built itself.

Holographic and 2D advertisements masked the structures, for the most part, so the owners, likely, never worried about building aesthetics. In fact, the advertisement made the streets so busy with noise and flare, visitors could barely keep their focus.

Arendelle City was situated on one of the largest geothermal hotspots on the planet. Sadly, most of the original wildlife had been destroyed in the process of settling the area. However, a preserved and unique feature was the large body of water situated at its eastern end—it gave the illusion that Arendelle City actually had a harbor. Whatsmore, the water was teeming with wildlife—unusual in itself, since most active regions either had bodies of water too hot or small to support complex life forms.

The only other structure worthy of mention was the spaceport. Oaken's Trading Post was situated right on the grounds, making it one of the premier facilities for goods of all kinds.

Kristoff guided Sven through the red light district as he made his way to Oaken's. This area was dominated by ads for softbots: replicas of a variety of sentient and not-so-sentient beings designed to service their customers in any fashion whatsoever. The Duke, naturally, dominated this market. His cheesy grin, framed by his equally cheesy gray mustache could be seen at every corner.

"Dance with Princess Anna of Corona Borealis or her sister, Crown Princess Elsa." his holograph declared. By "dance" he didn't mean dance at all, although a hologram showed him comically twirling a beautiful redhead around a ballroom floor. Half the laugh was that he was a good head shorter than his partner. "Size doesn't matter," was another one of his catchphrases as he attempted to lure in customers.

The Duke's lineup also featured the Princes of Crux, all thirteen of them, along with a few alien species like the Slugmen of Tarr. _Hey, whatever floats your boat,_ thought Kristoff as he maneuvered around a pedestrian standing mesmerized in the middle of the street.

Kristoff had to admit, he was intrigued, if not tempted, by the Princess lineup. The two Princesses of Corona Borealis were rumored to be gorgeous. He had to wonder if the softbot versions did them any justice, although the holographic images, if accurate, certainly showed promise. Whatever the case, Kristoff just couldn't picture himself stooping to the level of renting an artificial construct for pleasure. Maybe he was just old fashioned? Yet even if he was willing, the expense was outrageous. Too many harvesters squandered their resources on the vices of Arendelle City.

Soon enough, Kristoff was at the Spaceport. He took a sideroad from the hub and found himself in front of Oaken's Trading Post. A giant animated holograph featured Oaken, complete with his red bushy mustache and mutton chops, hawking a "lutefisk" special.

Kristoff frowned. He knew very well that the so-called lutefisk was none other than heavily processed Arendellian _sewer trout_ straight from the City's harbor.

"I'll be back in a jiffy, Sven," he announced.

Climbing out of the cab, he made his way past the myriad advertisements strategically and unavoidably planted all along the entranceway to the trading post. The facade of the building was paneled in wood, which was surprising given the expense, although it was undoubtedly locally sourced.

Kristoff pushed through the paned front entrance only to be greeted with more advertisements. The lutefisk hawked outdoors was stacked neatly in the central aisle and on prominent display. A pair of robotic drones circled above the stack, projecting lights onto the multiple jars filled with strips of sewer trout. None of it looked the least bit appetizing, even to someone as hardened as Kristoff. Nevertheless, the drones proclaimed "Xtra Tasti!" in bold neon letters scrolling along their sides.

Beyond the display, and crouched behind the store's main counter sat Oaken with his trademark friendly mutton chops. His nose and cheeks bright and his expression jolly, he seemed the epitome of the welcoming host. The tips of his fingers danced lightly and playfully together while loosely forming a steeple.

"Yoo-hoo, blowout on lutefisk today!" he announced, as if the point hadn't been driven stupefyingly home already. When he recognized Kristoff as his customer, the mask of his jovial expression dropped ever so slightly. The two, of course, had dealt with each other before and Kristoff had raised the huge man's ire when he accused Oaken of being a "crook" during the voice module debacle. _Well, if he isn't a crook, he's certainly a swindler._

As he explained to Sven however, Oaken being the only merchant that dealt with custom imports made doing business with the man necessary.

"Thanks, I think I'll pass." Kristoff gave the lutefisk display a side glance and found his stomach churning. "I'm here to pick up that utility robot I ordered six months ago. It is here—right?"

"Ja, ja …" Oaken twiddled his fingers some more. "Oaken always delivers his customers their orders when they are due." There was a broad grin on his face when he added, "However, there will be a slight surcharge on this order."

"A what?"

"A surcharge—ja?" he indicated, nodding his head. His ever jovial expression didn't change a bit.

Kristoff followed the nod with one of his own which slowly transitioned to a shaking of his head until Oaken was mimicking the same move. "The bill was for a fixed amount. We're settled. You can't just charge me extra."

"It will be an extra forty credits," declared Oaken.

"Forty! For what?"

"You failed to indicate that the shipping crate would be so heavy. It will be an extra forty and I will throw in a pass to my sauna and a jar of lutefisk."

"Listen, you know I don't swing that way." It was well known that Oaken's sauna was a gathering spot for gay men, most especially Oaken's so-called "family." As open minded as Kristoff was, that was a line he never wanted to cross. He shuddered. "But there's no way I'm paying a _surcharge_ , either. What do you mean that the shipping crate's overweight? I pointed out exactly what model I wanted, the B-9-M-3 General Utility Robot built by Jupiter 2, Inc. Weight and shipping costs were detailed right then and there. It doesn't get any simpler than that!"

"That is not what you ordered," replied Oaken plainly. His smile persisted.

Kristoff wanted to scream. _You were right, Sven._ "Of course, that's exactly what I ordered. You were standing right here when I placed it." He slapped the counter to emphasize his point.

"You have the receipt—ja?"

Grumbling under his breath, Kristoff reached into his pocket to retrieve his eWallet. He did a quick search for financial records from six months ago.

"Voila," he triumphantly announced as he nearly shoved the device into Oaken's smug face. "The receipt."

Oaken squinted. The form clearly showed that Kristoff had placed an order for a B-9 robot. Kristoff inwardly gloated. There was no way Oaken was going to be able to weasel out of this one.

Oddly, Oaken's expression broke into an even broader grin. "Oh-oh, sorry. It is not notarized." He drummed his fingers haphazardly together.

"Say what?"

"This receipt." Oaken perched his large digits around Kristoff's eWallet and pointed it back at him. "It lacks electronic notarization. Ja? How do I know that you did not make a forgery?"

"Fa-fa-what? Why you …"

Oaken began to rise. At seven foot, he was a monster of a man. Kristoff had been tossed out of the shop once before. It was an experience he'd rather not repeat. He threw up his hands and exclaimed, "Can I at least see the merchandise?"

Continuing to rise, but with a lesser degree of menace, Oaken motioned Kristoff to follow him, "Ah, ja, ja, we will go to the shipping and delivery bay. Follow me."

Kristoff brushed the back of his head. He was hardly a small man, but Oaken was a good ten inches taller. He followed the looming bulk to the back of the shop, half-staring at the olive, teal, and pink designs making up the man's sweater. There were various items on sale throughout the store, including the sun balm Kristoff was supposed to receive as an incentive for posting an order through Oaken. He had to wonder if this day could go any more wrong? He winced, imagining what Sven would have to say about all of this.

A sliding door stood before them and Oaken waved his hand in front of a sensor, presumably a bio-scanner, at which point the door automatically slid open. Lights turned on in succession as the two of them entered a mini-warehouse/loading bay. Anti-grav pallets stockpiled with various goods lay randomly strewn across the NanoCrete floor.

"This way," Oaken motioned.

They went further back toward the entrance of a loading bay. Laying on a large pallet, stood a human-sized cryo-transport. _Wait, what?_ None of this was making sense? Why would anyone ship a utility robot in a cryo-transport?

"Um, that can't be right. A B-9 robot doesn't need to be put in stasis for interstellar travel," declared Kristoff.

"Ja, ja," answered Oaken while nodding in agreement.

The two of them approached the container. Curious, Kristoff stood over the rectangular object, peeling away the protective wrapping while getting satisfaction out of listening to the material tear. With the covering off, an oblong, occluded window was revealed running the length of the unit. Kristoff briefly looked for the control panel, found it, and immediately pushed a button labeled "Occlusion Defeat."

In that instance, the properties of the window changed, transforming from obsidian to crystal clear in the span of a few seconds. Both Kristoff and Oaken's eyes rounded at the sight before them. _Inconceivable!_

That was not, could not be, a utility robot. The form revealed was a woman's. In fact, she was the most beautiful woman Kristoff had ever seen. She lay there as if deep in slumber, with her eyes closed tightly; there was a light spattering of freckles on her cheeks which extended over the bridge of her button nose. Her hair was gorgeous, and added to her beauty. Twin plaits colored a very light copper framed her angelic face and graced her shoulders.

Wearing a light green conforming utility uniform, it was obvious that the woman—a softbot?—had, at least as far as Kristoff was concerned, the ideal feminine physique. The softbot wasn't necessarily busty, but wasn't flat chested either. Instead she was just the right blend of slender, curvy and athletic. Kristoff felt an immediate and intense attraction. _Get a grip on yourself, buddy. That's a softbot!_ God, if it wasn't for the fact she was so impossibly pretty, he would have sworn she was real.

Turning to Oaken, Kristoff declared, "That's not what I ordered! That's, that's ..." He truly was at a loss for words, and he waved his arms in the air articulating nothing.

"A softbot," finished Oaken. He twiddled his fingers together as if he had just made a point and won the argument.

 _No-no-no-no! This can't be happening!_ "Look, this has got to be a mistake. Some kind of cosmic mix-up. I didn't forge anything. I _can't_ afford a softbot, even if I wanted one!" The last declaration was a mistake. He could see Oaken's eye's lighting up with credit signs. "And don't you get any ideas, Oaken. You know it's true. Only someone like the Duke could afford one of these units."

"Ja, ja."

"That's it! I'm getting to the bottom of this now." Kristoff searched and found the button to bring the cargo out of stasis. He activated it and watched the window's surface fog up as frost formed along its interior. Meanwhile, a buzzing sound emitted from the transport as fans engaged. Alongside the control panel, a timer began to flash, slowly sequencing down to zero.

When the counter finally reached zero, the lid of the transport sprung open. Both Oaken and Kristoff leaned over to get a better look. The softbot's eyes opened to reveal that they were a distinct aquamarine. _Wow,_ was all Kristoff could think.

She … it? ... began to cough, then broke into gibberish. "Els, there's no way I'm gonna mar …" The eyes suddenly came into focus as she finally noticed the two men leering from above. "Oh, h-hi … wh-who are you two?"

"The bigger question is, who are you? And where's my utility robot?" asked Kristoff gruffly.

"You are a softbot, ja?"

The woman pulled herself upright. "Cold, cold, cold … brrrrr." Shivering, and wrapping her arms about herself, she surveyed her surroundings as her eyes flashed back and forth. "A soft-what?" It took a moment, but a look of understanding washed over her face. "Oh, yeah, a softbot. That's me! I'm the softiest bot you'll ever see. But, hey, just call me Anna. I mean, not Anna… Roxanna. Yeah, Roxanna. That's it. Must be ... the weather? Can somebody turn up the heat? Um, where am I exactly?"


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:**

 **Standard disclaimer: I don't own Frozen or any of its characters. Disney owns the rights to these. This is a non-profit work of fan fiction. The only thing that belongs to me are the creepy creatures I've come up with, the general plot, and the futuristic elements populating this world/galaxy.**

 **I'd like to thank Cattleworks for reviewing this. I'd also like to thank** **Concolor44 for his continued support, even though he wasn't able to review this time. Like all of us, there's a life outside of this realm and sometimes it gets crazy.**

* * *

 **Out of the Frying Pan**

 _Anna … Roxanna …_ The two names twisted, tumbled and turned inside Kristoff's head. _How could she forget her own name? Or was the former just an abbreviated version of the latter?_ He was confused.

She pronounced each distinctly—the first 'a' sounding more like an 'ah' than he would have anticipated. He couldn't exactly qualify the affect as _entitled_ , but it hinted at some kind of privilege. Then again, maybe it was simply regional?

Kristoff absently ground the sole of his foot into the NanoCrete surface, disturbing a thin layer of dust. The incident with the bot's name nagged him. In the end, he shrugged it off to the designers trying to introduce human quirks, much like the pronunciation of her name. The freckles, the absolutely life-like skin, the flattering, yet still natural contours all spoke to a meticulous attention to detail. The hiccup with her memory, if it was that, must have been an engineered nuance. _Right?_

"Um, _hello?_ Are you guys paying attention?"

Both Oaken and Kristoff looked at each other and then back at Roxanna.

"You are in Arendelle City, Miss Roxanna, on the planet Arendelle-255," answered Oaken, giving the softbot an overly cheerful smile.

"Didn't they set you up at the factory before they sent you off?" inquired Kristoff. He found this fact to be a gross oversight. This, too, nagged him.

Forgetting himself and speaking to nobody in particular, he lapsed into Sven's voice, "Geez, this whole day is turning into one giant Arendellian cluster-fu … "—then caught himself midstream as the softbot's expression soured"—fu-fungle ..." His voice faded sharply as he finished his sentence, and his expression turned sheepish.

The softbot cleared her throat and continued to glare at him disapprovingly.

Kristoff chuckled nervously. "Yeah … that. Um, let's just … um, can we talk about that later?" He pulled at his collar uncomfortably. "But still, that doesn't answer my question about why you didn't get prepped before they shipped you?"

Roxanna began to push herself up and out of the cryo-transport, only to fall back inelegantly. Kristoff's instinctive reaction was to reach in and help her recover. The contact with her skin unexpectedly caused his pulse to surge. Her hand in his felt soft, warm and perfect. _This is nice,_ he thought before an unspoken alarm registered. _What am I doing?_ Embarrassed, he quickly pulled away and awkwardly apologized.

The woman … softbot—it was too easy to forget she wasn't human—looked back at him. Teal eyes locked with his brown, and Kristoff felt an odd connection, but only for a moment. He chastised himself for being so socially out-of-sorts, especially when face to face with an artificial construct.

She scrambled out of the unit, brushed at her clothing and spoke. "Well, of course I was prepped … I was just checking to make sure I was shipped to the right spot." Her eyes darted around the loading bay, taking in the inventory—a pallet of canned beans, a pile of guacca fur, a stack of self-help books ... "Ya never know with that inter-space-stuff shipping, right? I could've landed on some godforsaken,"—she eyed the beans—"backwoods"—then the animal fur—" planet … with a bunch of …"—her eyes quietly settled on the two men—"creepers ... Um, and who exactly are you guys?"

"My name is Oaken. I am the owner of Oaken's Trading Post, the finest establishment to shop or trade in all of Arendelle City. We are having a big seasonal blowout. Lutefisk special today! Would you like some, yes?"

Kristoff rolled his eyes and whispered under his breath, "She's a softbot. They don't eat." At least he didn't think they did. Then he faced Roxanna, hands loosely on his hips, and introduced himself. "I'm Kristoff. Ah, Kristoff Bjorgman. Ice Harvester. And I'm still wondering about my utility robot … unless you're gonna tell me you're the surprise upgrade to the B-9?"

"Christopher, Oakley. Got it."

"It's Kristoff …"

A smiling Oaken, palm facing forward and hand about mid-chest high, wiggled his fingers. "And I am Oaken. Hoo-hoo!"

"Um, yep, Kristoff, and Oaken. Exactly. Totally normal names."

Kristoff sighed. He was too busy trying to untangle what might have happened to his utility robot to bother responding. The red light district was really the only place in Arendelle City where a softbot would be useful. Could his B-9 have landed there? Maybe the shipments got swapped by mistake? And with a softbot of this quality, only the Duke would have been able to afford it. At least that's what he thought. In reality, he had no idea what a softbot would go for, but he was betting he could buy a cargo bay full of B-9s for the same price.

Roxanna, now that she was up and about, continued to examine the bay. She started asking Oaken about his wares. "So, you're saying you keep a lot of wintery stuff in stock 'cause most of the planet's icy cold … Hey, what's up with all the self-help books? _Who Moved My Finnbiff?_ Hmm. Move my krumkake and that'd be a deal breaker ..."

Her youthful enthusiasm surprised Kristoff as she " _oohed"_ and " _aahed"_ at the various items that caught her interest. Were all softbots like this? Kristoff really didn't know, once again reflecting on the fact that he had zero experience with them.

In certain cases, her face was particularly animated as she spoke—"And chocolate … you do have chocolate here—right? Right?" When Oaken shook his head, "no" she pouted and Kristoff couldn't help but stand there half-amused, although he now wondered if his earlier remark regarding softbots eating was accurate.

Oaken latched onto her, no doubt in an attempt to leverage the situation to his advantage and profit at Kristoff's expense. The two began walking out the bay, back toward the store's entrance, with Kristoff tagging along.

A series of queries followed. Oaken was more than happy to respond to all of Roxanna's questions, especially since she was eager to learn all about his store and he was eager to sell. Apparently Oaken forgot he was talking with an artificial construct. It was easy to see why.

As they moved along, Kristoff picked up other small snippets of dialogue. Unsurprisingly and half-amusingly, Oaken kept steering the conversation towards his most expensive wares but Roxanna seemed to have a mind of her own. Kristoff was only partially listening. He was still trying to sort out how he was going to work through his robot situation.

In the back of his mind, he was amazed at the volume of words exchanged between the two.

"What're important things to take with you if you're out alone on the ice fields? … So, that parka over there is rated to like, -90 degrees, wow … Say, how did you say people find their way around without GPS? … " and so on. Roxanna, apparently, was a complete chatterbox.

Kristoff began to pay more attention and grew increasingly puzzled by her line of inquiry.

"And exactly how does that navigation thingy work? Inertial navigation? Periodic running fixes? Celestial triangulation? Kalman filters?"

To his increasing surprise, she deftly maneuvered the conversation, sidestepping Oaken's sales pitches at every turn, and subtly inquired about gear necessary to strike out on her own. What would a softbot need with these things? Something here sure smelled fishy and it wasn't just the lutefisk. Still, he tried to shake it off. _Heh._ It was likely just another engineered quirk.

His thoughts returned to the mystery of his utility robot. He wondered if he should travel back to the red light district and ask around there? Maybe he should contact the freight company first and have them check their invoice ... _What to do, what to do ..._

As she walked in front of him, his gaze unconsciously drifted down towards her posterior. It was hard to look away. Her hips subtly swayed with each step—Kristoff had never seen anything quite like it, certainly not here on Arendelle-255, where hardscrabble women tended to walk in plodding strides. Her skin-tight outfit emphasized her shapely form and only fueled the distraction. _Wow!_

Roxanna stopped abruptly. Looking over her shoulder, she stared straight back at Kristoff with a mild frown. _Huh?_ Had she somehow known where his eyes were glued?

Immediately, Kristoff felt like a kid caught pilfering sweets. A series of panicked thoughts flooded his mind. _Did she know? How could she know? She's a softbot_ — _aren't you supposed to look at them? Then why is she looking at me like that? It's not my fault her butt looks so_ —

The head whipped back in place. "Hmph," he thought he heard. He was probably being paranoid. Whatever the case, it didn't stop those hips from swaying. If anything, the motion became even more pronounced as Roxanna picked up her pace. This time Kristoff forced himself to look away and tried to think of something unpleasant. _Lutefisk, lutefisk, lutefisk ..._

Meanwhile, Oaken, oblivious to what just transpired, switched tactics and began to regale Roxanna with the products she seemed interested in, scurrying from display to display. The huge man's movements were oddly graceful given his considerable mass. He settled by one table overloaded with small fur caps. Kristoff couldn't identify what animal they came from, except that the fur was thin and dank. Oaken eagerly modeled one. It, of course, looked completely ridiculous on his large head—as if some unfortunate pet had suddenly and tragically expired then and there.

"Oh, yeah, um, that looks really great … on you. I was thinking, I don't know, something a little less furry?" remarked Roxanna. She pointed toward another area with a variety of arcticwear, glanced back at Kristoff with a timid smile, and then walked over to make a selection.

Gathering a pile of goods, she meandered through the store while still engaged in conversation with Oaken, who beamed brightly as Roxanna's pile grew. Occasionally, she glanced at Kristoff, who just stood idly by. Kristoff rubbed the back of his head, wondering what exactly was going on. He started to worry about how this exchange was going to end. It wasn't like he could afford the items Roxanna had accumulated. Was he even responsible for them?

The glances continued. Roxanna would move toward an area, look up at Kristoff and either beeline for the product, or inexplicably veer in a new direction. It was somehow fascinating, the way the softbot operated, and all this while continuously chatting up Oaken.

Carrying a pile of clothing that was surprisingly well suited for the open Arendellian tundra, she plopped them onto Oaken's checkout counter. Perhaps she was prepped at the factory after all? Still, it begged the question, what purpose would a softbot have with arctic gear?

Oaken pulled out a scanning register from behind the counter and waved it over the small mountain of clothing that Roxanna had dropped there. A stylish cap, gloves, various layers of outerwear, insulated boots and more, along with the navigation widget Roxanna had been so keen on, caused the scanner to beep in series as each item was acknowledged. Oaken's eyes shone brightly as he took in the price (plus tax) from the scanner. He turned to Kristoff. "That'll be an extra thirty-three credits on top of the extra shipping charge. It makes a total of seventy-three."

Kristoff's lips began to sputter. "W-wait, what? T-that's not even my stuff!"

"This is your bot, ja?"

"Um …" Kristoff thought quickly. If he denied ownership, he'd be walking out of here empty handed. Who knows how long he'd have to wait for his order to come through? On the other hand, if he accepted, then he'd be stuck with this extra bill and a softbot he had no use for. His stomach lurched. This was going to hurt. "Um, yeah. She belongs to me …" _at least until I get my B-9._

Oaken's grin, if possible, seemed to broaden.

From the corner of his eyes, Kristoff noticed Roxanna carefully look him over, lips mildly pulled in. "Well, Mr. Oaken," she began. "I think we can strike a bargain here." Smiling, she leaned into the counter. "So, um, since this is the bestest trading post on the planet …"—her smile seemed so genuine—"and I'm sure you're famous for dealing more than fair and square with your customers …"—Kristoff coughed—"I figure that that cryo-transport back in your loading bay has gotta be worth more than all this stuff here. Way more." She beamed at Oaken angelically. Oaken's brow momentarily furrowed while looking at Kristoff, but as he turned his gaze back to the softbot, he relaxed and, to Kristoff's surprise, nodded in affirmation. Roxanna's smile grew even larger. She added, "Oh! While we're at it, that big blond guy over there"—she pointed directly at Kristoff—"looks like he needs a serious fashion makeover. Add him to the tab."

Kristoff's face fell. "Hey, wait a minute!" His day kept on sinking. "Technically, since you belong to me … at least until this entire cluster fu-"—there was that look again—"fungle gets sorted out …"

"Whoa, serious potty mouth." interrupted Roxanna. She folded her arms.

"I said 'fungle,'" He tried to look steadfast.

"What is a fungle?" asked Oaken, his face twisted in bewilderment as the tips of his fingers drummed against each other.

Kristoff was pulling at his collar again. "Um, it's—"

"Go on," prompted Roxanna, a single eyebrow askew.

"It's a … " He looked desperately back at her; her lips were distinctly set in a smirk. "A-a road … a really twisty … tangly … wooded road … for cows …" _Oh, hell._

Oaken nodded.

Roxanna stifled a snort with her hand by pressing it against her lips. She made her way up to him, pulling him down toward her by his collar and whispered in his ear, "You're a really, really bad liar, Christopher." Her arm relaxed and she added, "Okie-dokie, let's see how we can fix this," motioning to his weathered outfit with her free hand. Her expression was filled with mirth, while Kristoff was feeling quite the opposite. Smiling, she then tugged him along by his shirt sleeve to another corner of the store.

"It's Kris—Hey, wait a minute! Where are you dragging me?" Her close proximity unsettled him. "And I wasn't …"

"Shush!"

"Are you sure your developers weren't insane?"

Roxanna glared at him. "I assure you, sir, that my _developers_ were beyond reproach." She lightly pushed him on the back toward a stand filled with extra large clothing. "Now come on."

He wasn't one to allow himself to be led by the nose. On the ice fields, he had a reputation for being rather surly, especially when crossed. Most harvesters knew better than to try to intimidate him or order him around. Yet he found himself yielding without much resistance to this enigmatic softbot in the form of a young woman. Why?

Maybe because he found his whole situation just so upside-down? Or was it that he had never met anyone quite like Roxanna? He had to admit, he never would have figured that a softbot would have so much verve, and personality. She had an endless quantity of expressions, both verbal and non-verbal. The way her eyes would flit from corner to corner, the way her lips would pout, purse, pucker and smile intrigued him. He could go on.

He caught her relaxing her breath when he complied. Somehow, that made him feel better.

Of course, he wasn't influenced at all by her looks. Yes, she happened to be beautiful, gorgeous even. Yes, her—

Kristoff's train of thought stopped dead in its tracks as Roxanna roughly shoved a pile of clothing into his arms. "Pay attention," she added.

"Gloves. I need gloves," he managed to feebly mumble. His comment was shortly followed by a pair of black mittens smacking directly into his face.

"Sorry. Sorry. I'm sorry," she apologized, slowly motioning with both hands. Concern was written all over her face, but then vanished in a flash. "Ooh! Wait. What's that?" Her eyes focused on something just over his shoulder.

"Huh? What's what?" Kristoff answered, as Roxanna grabbed his sleeve once more, almost dragging him into a post, "Whoa!" and then pulling him further along until they settled in front of a stack of shirts.

"This! This!" she exclaimed exuberantly, while retrieving a large black shirt made from XephyrTech. Looking very self-satisfied while placing the garment up against his chest, she proclaimed, "Yes, I think this has possibilities!"

"Possibilities?" Kristoff eyed the garment suspiciously, as if it were an ice wraith at a petting zoo. It was a matte black, not quite as black as vantablack, but still very black. The advantage of XephyrTech was that it was an exceptional insulator and hydrophobic, making it the perfect base layer for extreme cold. Unfortunately, it was also very expensive; he never bothered with anything made from it simply due to cost.

He was about to object when Roxanna steered him to a yet another location. Before long, he had accumulated a considerable inventory.

As they approached Oaken's checkout counter, Kristoff fully expected Oaken to reject most, if not all of the additional supplies. Roxanna was right, the cryo-transport was worth a lot more than everything they had presently before them. The storekeeper sat behind the counter wearing his typical grin and playing with his fingers.

Roxanna eagerly launched into the merits of each and every article Kristoff was carrying, while simultaneously motioning him to place the load beside her own on the counter. It was really mind numbing, at least for Kristoff. Oaken just sat there smiling and nodding, not able to get a word in edgewise. Before anyone knew it, Roxanna announced, "Well, I think that's it! Really, it was great shopping here. You're an awesome businessman!" She handed half the goods to Kristoff, grabbing the other half for herself.

"Ah-ah-ah," Oaken interjected before the two could exit. "A softbot is very very much more expensive than a utility robot—ja?" He retrieved a close by eCatalog and began running a search … "Ja, B-9 …" he mumbled. "Ah, advanced softbot … very realistic full personality …" He performed some calculations as he intermittently chuckled to himself. With barely contained glee, he looked back up at Kristoff with a grin that wanted to state "friendly businessman" but, instead, conveyed con-artist. "Oh dear, oh dear, my meticulous computation, including discounted handling fee, shows you owe 720, 535.23 credits." His fingers, free of the eCatalog, danced against each other arrhythmically.

Kristoff's eyes narrowed sharply; his fingers curled into fists. "What do you mean, I owe you more than 720 thousand credits? And handling fees? That's _ridiculous!_ " The word _crook_ lingered heavily on his lips.

"Ridiculous?" echoed Oaken as he began to rise and assert his position by looming over the harvester.

"Guys, um, gentlemen, I mean," interjected Roxanna. She carefully wedged herself between the two. "I was just wondering for a minute here … you know, if I _was_ the "surprise upgrade" to the B-9—let's say the B-52—then Mr. Oaken here wouldn't exactly be justified in the extra charge—would he?"

The bushy red brows, normally raised in accompaniment with his ubiquitous sales grin, sunk and knitted together in puzzlement. "You are not a softbot?" Oaken asked. For once, his hands came to rest on the counter, palms solidly pressed against the surface.

This series of unexpected turns took Kristoff by surprise, too. His mind raced at the possibilities. _B-52 …_ The implication that Roxanna was a utility robot was absurd, but he wasn't about to dispel the notion and let Oaken soak him for thousands of credits, even if he could afford it. To walk out of here empty handed was unacceptable.

At least with the softbot in his possession, he would have some leverage. "I think Roxanna has a point. I never ordered a softbot. I've been expecting a utility robot the whole time. It only makes sense that she's an upgraded utility robot. I bet, if you check, Jupiter II discontinued the B-9 and … um, replaced it with this … this B-52. It's obvious."

Roxanna nodded in accompaniment with Kristoff's statement.

Oaken began to sputter. It made Kristoff want to laugh. "Nei, that can't be!"

"Face it, it makes sense. The only other possibility is that my order was cross-shipped and ended up with someone like the Duke."

Oaken glumly acknowledged Kristoff with a slow nod.

"Well, it's all settled now," added Roxanna. Waving goodbye after both of them placed their items into bags, she escorted Kristoff past the lutefisk display and out the door.

Exiting the shop, Roxanna exhaled loudly as the door behind them slammed shut. Kristoff looked over his shoulder, expecting to see the huge man rushing the door. Instead, Roxanna guided him forward. "Come on, Christopher, we need to get moving." There was a sense of urgency behind her voice.

"Gah! It's Kristoff!"

"Didn't anyone teach you not to raise your voice to a lady?" she chastised.

Kristoff sighed. _What a day._ Once he had his B-9 in possession he would gladly settle his affairs, and hand over the softbot, or whatever she was, to its real owner. One thing for sure, she wasn't a utility robot. _B-52 my ass!_ He'd sooner figure that Roxanna was an ancient bomber or a music group before he bought into that.

The temperature outside was colder than indoors. First timers typically had a tough time adjusting to Arendelle's climate. Even the thermal glades seemed cold to them. Kristoff noticed Roxanna shivering and his first impulse was to reach out and put his arm around her. He thought better of it soon after his arm was already in motion. It moved past her shoulder, then clumsily boomeranged back toward his head, where he faked an itch.

Roxanna glanced at him, and Kristoff returned that look with what he hoped was a nonchalant smile. Maybe he was wrong, but he thought he heard her mumble something like "weirdo."

As they came up to his snowcat, he stopped and introduced it with a grand flourish. "Roxanna, meet Sven. Sven this is Roxanna." In temperate climates there was no need for him to use a headset to communicate with the snowcat. Outside, on the open tundra and with the wind howling, it was a necessity.

Sven didn't answer and Roxanna gave Kristoff a curious look. " _Okay_ … Hello, Sven?"

"He's shy with strangers. Sven, don't be rude."

Roxanna's expression read "I'm standing here next to an idiot," prompting Kristoff to kick the vehicle's tread at which point, the snowcat finally responded.

"Ouch, I was taking a nap." An overhead sensor whirred into place scanning the two of them. "Whoa, my scanner's picking up one long ass, sorry story. This should be good." The sensor then jogged slightly left and zoomed in to survey Roxanna. "Whoa, now that's a top notch utility robot you got there! Looks like another Oaken inspired cluster fu—"

A small, delicate foot made sudden impact with the snowcat's chassis. "Language!" She turned to Kristoff. "He talks just like you. I can see the apple doesn't fall far from the tree here."

"Feisty," responded Sven.

Kristoff groaned. "Come on, Let's get out of here before I have to deal with that raging crook." He motioned over his shoulder toward Oaken's.

"I thought he was nice," huffed Roxanna as she made her way into the cab.

"You're not the best judge of character, are you?" remarked Kristoff as he hoisted himself into the cab alongside her.

"Excuse me, I'm here with you." A short moment later she gave him the once over, shifted her eyes away from him and shuffled her body so that the gap between them was larger.

 _This day just keeps on getting better._ "Um, Sven text Intergalactic Freight and have them run a trace on a cryo-transport." He gave Sven the tracking ID and turned to Roxanna. "I think a visit with the Duke might be on the menu."

* * *

 **A/N - _For those of you who don't know:_**

 ** _The Class B-9-M-3 General Utility Non-Theorizing Environmental Control Robot is the robot from the Lost in Space series (1966-1968)_**

 ** _Who Moved My Cheese is a popular self-help book. Finnbiff is a Norwegian dish prepared with reindeer meat. Alas, poor Sven._**

 ** _The Fungle Road is an old drove road from Glen Esk to Deeside. It starts in the hamlet of Tarfside._**

 ** _Vantablack is the trademarked name (owned by Surrey NanoSystems Limited) for a chemical substance_ _made of vertically aligned carbon nanotube arrays and is one of the darkest_ _artificial substances known, absorbing up to 99.965% of radiation in the visible spectrum._**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:**

 **Standard disclaimer: I don't own Frozen or any of its characters. Disney owns the rights to these. This is a non-profit work of fan fiction. The only thing that belongs to me are the creepy creatures I've come up with, the general plot, and the futuristic elements populating this world/galaxy.**

 **Thanks to the usual gang for reviewing this ... Also, a** **full sized cover image for Arendelle-255 can be seen at Renderosity:**

 **renderosity dot com /mod/gallery/ice-world/2804109/?p**

* * *

 **And Into the Vortex**

The rhythmic humming of the snowcat's caterpillar treads was the only sound filling the cabin. Occasionally, the sound was joined by an odd thunk as the tracks clashed with some surface anomaly. No one, not Sven, not Roxanna, nor Kristoff uttered a peep.

Normally, the ambient noise and occasional banter were enough to keep Kristoff in high spirits. Only now, with Roxanna sitting silently beside him, and Sven mysteriously quiet as well, Kristoff felt strangely unsettled.

From the corner of his eye, he stole a glance at Roxanna. Her light copper braids caught his attention and for a moment he imagined them unplaited, with those lustrous locks cascading freely over her shoulders. Curiously, his face flushed. He was acutely aware of her presence, her breathing, her very body heat, and then there was something else … something lurking just under the surface he couldn't quite put to words. For some reason, he felt compelled to speak to her … to say something ... anything ... just to get her attention, but he stopped himself, fearing that he would sound stupid.

With her face pressed against an insulated window, she looked so lost in thought. Did softbots lose themselves like that? The way she viewed the outside world, with all the wonder of a child, had him thinking. What went through the mind of a softbot anyway? Maybe Roxanna's memories had been implanted with modern cityscapes and she was comparing them against what she was seeing now? Or, was this experience akin to a newborn child's, with every vision being something foreign and unique, to be relished as the world before her spectacularly unfolded? He wasn't sure.

He shook his head, perhaps simply to clear his mind of its clutter. He supposed that Arendelle City had a unique ambiance, what with its ubiquitous use of NanoCrete and the ever present holographic montage decorating each city block.

Another stolen glance caused the heat to come to Kristoff's cheeks again. How did he measure up in her world view? And why would that even matter? _She's not even human._

The need to say something surged but he squelched the impulse and settled back in his seat instead.

Things took an interesting turn as they pushed into the red light district. The number of advertisements jumped in volume and became more risqué. Kristoff could tell that Roxanna became increasingly agitated. She squirmed noticeably against the cushioned seat each time an image of a half-naked _something_ appeared.

Her reaction surprised him. Wouldn't a softbot be programmed to welcome sexuality? Kristoff began to dwell on this and all the other incongruencies the softbot exhibited. A seed of doubt formed: Was she, in fact, a softbot after all? He rubbed his chin pensively. When he looked at her for any length of time, he found himself floored by her beauty—he knew beautiful people existed throughout the galaxies, it was just hard to believe that such acute perfection could be seated next to him, and all through a random role of the cosmic dice. Even her freckles seemed strategically manipulated to enhance her looks. Once again, the urge to say something rose to the surface ...

"What the hell!"

"Whoa!" The sudden exclamation startled him. A ginormous holograph featuring a shirtless, hairy chested Duke, with the two alleged Princesses of Corona Borealis snaked around each of his thighs, appeared before them. The animation ran in an endless loop, with the royal sisters, the same redhead featured in the dance holo spied earlier in the day accompanied by her platinum blonde sister, fawning at the Duke's booted feet. The animation ended as they turned to kiss each other passionately.

"T-that's … that's disgusting!" bellowed Roxanna. "What the _fuck_ is wrong with that asshole!" Her face took on fifty shades of red. Her hands clenched into fists. "They're sisters!"

Kristoff was shocked, clearly not by the language, but by Roxanna's use of it along with her intense reaction. It stood in sharp contrast to her earlier behavior.

"Is that the guy we're gonna see? 'Cause I'm gonna shove a boot up his skinny, wrinkly, doofy butt."

"Whoa, whoa, feisty pants! Calm down." Before he even knew it, he had his arm around her shoulders in an attempt to sooth her. "It's not like you even know the Coronian Princesses."

"Hmph. How would you know?" she huffed.

"They're recluses—never been seen by the public. All anyone seems to know about them is their hair color"—he found himself curiously examining Roxanna's strawberry blonde hair—"so a bot fresh out of the factory would have no chance of running into them. Right?"

No immediate answer followed. If anything, her anger seemed to seethe.

"They're sisters! Yeah, I lo … I mean, I'm sure those sisters love each other, but what kind of _perverty_ pervert would think up this kind of crap? Incestuous lesbians? Ew, so gross! Grrr."

"Rule 34," piped in Sven.

"Huh?" both of them sounded simultaneously.

It was then that Roxanna seemed to become aware of Kristoff's arm. Those aquamarine eyes squinted at him suspiciously. "And even though I'm _not_ a lesbian …" She began to peel Kristoff's hand off her shoulder, finger by finger. "Don't. Get. Any. Ideas. Mister muscly, blond guy."

"It's Kris … Ow!" He quickly pulled his hand away as she dug her nails into the last finger still holding purchase.

"You know, I _could_ be engaged …" she added, with mild indignation.

"What? You're a softbot … They don't come pre-engaged. And before you tell me you're a B-57—"

"52."

"Whatever … They don't come pre-engaged, either."

"Hmph."

"I vote that she's a lesbian," interjected Sven. "And the whole engagement thing is nothing but a merkin."

"Funny. Real funny," Roxanna remarked flatly. "I'd kick you right now if I thought it would work any better than last time." Turning to Kristoff she asked, "Does this thing come with an 'off' switch?"

"My feelings are hurt," commented Sven glumly.

"Gah! I've been cursed by Loki," Kristoff sighed. "I'm kinda wondering if _you_ come with an off switch." Roxanna returned his last remark with a death glare.

He rubbed at his injured finger, wondering if meeting the Duke was just going to make an infuriating situation even more infuriating—pretty much the drum beat of the whole day. Still, he reluctantly admitted, an angry Roxanna was, somehow, oddly cute.

It wasn't long after Roxanna's outburst that they arrived at the Duke's Emporium. Gaudy lights adorned the NanoCrete structure. Its arched entrance was spray painted in faux gold and inlaid with cheap colored glass tiles that were meant to imitate rare gems. Perched over the arch was the building's marquee. _Duchy of Weselton-Pleasure Emporium,_ it proclaimed in bold neon letters as the sign flashed repeatedly.

At each corner, towering spires rose above the main structure where they were crowned by bulbous domes. Undulating text followed the length of the spires, only to balloon into bombastic advertisements as the letters crested above their respective peaks. If memory served Kristoff correctly, this architectural style was known as _Nouveau Trumpian._ Largely out of style, it was emphatically embraced by the Duke here in Arendelle City.

Naturally, holographs exhibiting the offered "attractions" were strategically placed throughout. Kristoff was about to suggest that Roxanna stay inside the snowcat, however before he could articulate a sound, she was already pushing her way outdoors. Her brows were knit tightly together, and her cheeks puffed out. Seeing a scrolling sign just under the marquee advertising the Princesses of Corona Borealis as this week's featured special, for some reason, further incensed her.

Two burly goons dressed in high collared, maroon, long coats stood at opposite corners of the arched entrance way into the Emporium. Both of these men must have lifted fashion tips from Oaken in terms of facial hair. One of them, a stocky, broad-jawed fellow had the same friendly mutton chops as the store keeper, only his hair was a rich chestnut. The other sported mousy brown sideburns that extended as far as his jaw, sans mustache.

Roxanna ignored the two and pushed past them without so much as a glance. Kristoff noted how the men—bouncers? doormen?—eyed her curiously, and perhaps, a little too appreciatively. It must have been a rare occasion, indeed, when an exceptionally attractive woman entered the confines of the Duke's establishment through the front door.

They scrutinized Kristoff, too, as he followed close behind, most likely to assess his risk potential. Kristoff did likewise. On the ice, you had to size-up strangers quickly. Arendellian Ice wasn't found just anywhere, and while most harvesters honored a staked claim, some did not. Kristoff walked past these two with care.

A woman decked out in an archaic princess outfit stood behind a glitzy kiosk nestled in the lobby. She was adorned in a sparkling lavender dress that clung closely to her body and exhibited a lot of cleavage. Her honey blonde hair was in an elaborate updo, and her eyes were overdone in copious green eyeshadow which stood in sharp contrast to her pale complexion.

As Kristoff got closer, it was easy to see she was an artificial construct. _So, this must be a softbot._ The texture and pallor of her skin was plainly off, to the point that it didn't pass as natural. Her features were exaggerated as well, with a waist that was too thin and a bust too large. It made her look cartoonish and oversexed, which was probably the point.

He did a double-take between the bot and Roxanna, carefully comparing the two. A sinking feeling came over him. _She's … Oh, God! No-no-no! Roxanna's got to be a softbot, just a really good one!_

"Welcome to the Duchy of Weselton, where all your fantasies can come true. We're running a special this week: Princesses of Corona Borealis," declared the softbot.

Roxanna leaned into the kiosk. "I'd like to see the Duke, please."

The softbot looked confused. "The Duke's not an available attraction. We do have some suitable substitutes, however, if you have a thing for geriatric men. Would the two of you be interested?"

Kristoff nearly choked.

Roxanna, on the other hand, didn't miss a beat. "I don't think you understand. I'm here for a job."

Kristoff's choking fit persisted.

"A job?" inquired the softbot. Apparently, she wasn't programmed to expect this. Neither, to be honest, was Kristoff.

"Yes, since you're running this special, maybe you need an extra to fill in for Princess Anna of Corona Borealis," stated Roxanna flatly.

By this point, Kristoff was sure his face had turned an unpleasant shade of blue.

"Well, that's a position typically filled by a softbot. I'm not sure your hair's the right shade of red, or if you have that princess look, but I'll contact the Duke to see if you meet his criteria. Maybe he could use you as a spare."

" _Spare,"_ mumbled Roxanna.

This was the point where Kristoff would have said a whole lot if it weren't for the fact that he couldn't even breathe. Feeble gusts exited his lips but otherwise nothing intelligible.

Roxanna cut him off before he could gather his breath. "Sush, Kristoff." She quickly looked him over and whispered, "And get a hold of yourself. You're embarrassing me."

 _What?_ Well, at least she had gotten his name right. Meanwhile, the softbot was busy flipping a series of switches, and entering text behind the kiosk.

Shortly thereafter, a spherical drone sped into the lobby and hovered next to the group. "Is this the subject?" inquired the drone in a voice that sounded like a cranky old man.

The softbot at the kiosk answered, "Yes, sir."

"Hmm, _interesting_ …" The drone's electronic eye surveyed Roxanna closely. "So, you're looking for a job, mhm? Well, _please_ , some movement … Perhaps you could show me how you walk?"

With a generous smile, Roxanna complied and began walking toward the drone, arms initially by her side. As she got closer, her arms came up and extended toward the ceiling, her hips began to smoothly rock and twist with each step. Kristoff stood, mouth agape—this was nothing like the subtle hip sway exhibited earlier at Oaken's. It was predatory, punctuated by feline grace. Her arms came down with a flare as she twisted back toward Kristoff. Then she boldly walked back toward the harvester, her face painted with a sassy grin as her hips continued to gyrate seductively.

The voice coming from the drone seemed to be clearing its throat. "Er, yes, we might have a spot for you. Please follow the drone to the elevator."

Kristoff leaned in toward Roxanna and casually whispered in her ear, "Where'd you learn to move like that?"

She smugly replied, "It runs in the family."

There was an elevator housed in each of the spires. The pair followed the drone to the shaft located at the front right, where the drone hovered for a moment in front of a stainless steel door, and emitted a series of chirps and tweets. The door opened, prompting Roxanna and Kristoff to enter.

The drone followed them inside, where the group found themselves surrounded in a lavish compartment. The floor was decked in rich hardwood, while the walls were covered in deep velvet. A gold panel nestled near the door indicated only a single destination: _Penthouse._

The door closed smoothly in front of them and the elevator began to accelerate. The motion was barely perceptible.

"Ah, _mysterious_ woman … come to me so I can exploit you to my benefit!" emitted the drone. Apparently, the operator—presumably the Duke—failed to turn the transmitter off. Both Kristoff and Roxanna eyed each other without saying a word.

It was a short moment later that the doors slid open. An expansive oval office was revealed, opulently decorated with exotic woods, bronze sculptures, and inlaid marble relief borders. Various paintings adorned the walls, many of which seemed to be portraits of the Duke, himself. This was nothing like the fake adornments found in the rest of the building, although the lavish decor, in Kristoff's mind, was overdone. It did signal considerable wealth, if not taste.

The Duke, who actually looked smaller in stature than he appeared in the holograms, stood up from behind his desk. "Weselton Brimsby, at your service, or as everyone knows me, the _Duke_. And you two are?" His lips curled into a snide, half-smile as he raised a bushy eyebrow.

"Roxanna."

"And I'm Kris … um, Christopher," said Kristoff cautiously, not willing to give his real name. Roxanna gave him a side glance.

The Duke _,_ in keeping with his apparent nature, wore a ridiculously overblown dignitary-style uniform, adorned with fake medals, a red sash, and gold epaulets (featuring dangling tassels). Kristoff bit his tongue to keep from laughing.

Coming from around his desk, Kristoff observed that the Duke was wearing high polished jackboots to, _eh_ , compliment the rest of his outfit—with elevated heels no less. Kristoff bit his tongue even harder.

The Duke walked in a sprightly manner and quickly closed the gap between himself and his would-be employee. Standing directly in front of her, it was apparent that he only came to just above Roxanna's shoulders, despite wearing heels. " _So …_ you want to _play_ at being a princess, hmm?" He raised himself on his toes in order to make better eye contact. "I sense a motive here. Is there one?"

"N-no. Of course not!"

"No? Well, perhaps I should inspect the, um, merchandise. What do you say?"

"What?" Roxanna looked less than pleased.

"I have to see if you can pass as a princess. You're pretty enough, in a plebeian way. Not exactly busty, but there's more than a handful to explore … Not that those ice harvesting scum are that picky anyway. Still, I have a reputation to keep." He attempted to move a hand to Roxanna's breast, but it was quickly intercepted.

"I don't think so."

"Er, yes, I see. Well, we'll have to work on your demeanor. Deficient. Not princess-like at all." He pulled his hand away, and wiped it against his coattails. Surveying her once again, he nodded to himself. "Hmm." Then he managed to grab her by the elbow and quickly span her about so that she was facing away from him. "You do have an exemplary rump, I must admit ..." He reached out and grabbed a cheek with either hand. "And quite firm, too."

Kristoff felt a surge of outrage and was about to intervene when Roxanna whirled about, her face redder than he'd ever seen it.

"I think I've had enough. You … pervert!" She poked her index finger straight into his chest. "Listen up, Weaseltown."

"Ack! Weselton! It's Weselton!"

"No. There's definitely a weasel in here somewhere." She continued to poke her finger into his chest, backing him up until he was caught between her prodding digit and his desk. "What kinda sicko are you? Princess special … and that holo you've been airing all about town!" She practically growled. "You _do_ know they're sisters—right? You must have never had a sister yourself."

Roxanna removed her finger from his chest and breathed down on him. Like an agile monkey, the Duke took the opportunity to slip to the side, away from her and his desk. His demeanor transitioned from one of fear to rage. "You … you impudent nobody! Do you know _who_ I am? I own this planet." Roxanna refused to give way, however, and the Duke slowly backpedaled. "You have no idea how much power I hold. I'll ruin you! Along with that bumbling oaf you brought along! I'll have you two strapped to one of my dungeon tables and offer you up to the dregs! You're nothing but a cheap whore!" he continued.

Apparently, that was exactly the wrong thing to say. In a blink of an eye, Roxanna pivoted her hip as her right thigh arched forward to execute a flawless roundhouse. Her instep connected perfectly with the side of the Duke's head.

Kristoff, standing nearby, managed to catch the Duke's collapsing figure. "Holy shi—" Roxanna fired him a warning glare. "Great, we're back to this again," he mumbled. Carefully, he laid the Duke down on the carpeted floor.

Roxanna simply frowned, but then scrambled behind the Duke's desk. She found a console there and rapidly began to type.

"What're you doing there, Red? The Duke's out like a light. We need to get out of here before he comes to. We're already in plenty of trouble. I don't want to face off against a troop of his henchmen."

"Red?" Roxanna looked up momentarily from her typing with a puzzled expression. "Just a minute, Yellow."

Kristoff did a face-palm. "Ugh. Okay, maybe I deserved that." He glumly looked at the Duke's supine body. "I definitely won't be getting my B-9 now." In that moment he felt as if he had been struck by lightning. _Oh, God!_ "Asimovian laws," he said between his teeth, as he looked back at Roxanna. _No!_

He was about to confront her, when she returned his gaze with a cheshire smile. "Mission accomplished!"

His eyes narrowed and he scratched his head. "Mission what? Never mind, let's get the hell out of here." Things were too dangerous at the moment. He grabbed her hand as she came out from around the desk. It felt more human now as he pulled her back to the elevator.

The first thing Kristoff did after climbing on board was to snatch the hovering drone from the air and smash its electronic eye against the floor. The violent movement and subsequent harsh noise startled Roxanna. Its impact left a considerable mark against the hardwood, as well as fractured pieces of the drone littering the surface. He then pressed the elevator's down button and waited for the doors to close.

"Ahh, my neck! My head! Erik, Francis! Take care of the redhead and blond on the lift. Use extreme … prejudice. I demand retribution! Send a nurse. Oh!" came the garbled instruction from the damaged drone.

Kristoff picked up the fractured sphere and held it against his chest.

When the doors opened again, he was not surprised to see the two goons formerly standing by the Emporium's entrance, in front of the elevator. He _was_ surprised that they were armed with _boilers._ Illegal on most planets, boilers emitted a tight stream of microwaves that would rapidly excite water molecules into a frenzy. When the beam made contact with flesh, it would cause it to cook violently from within, frequently resulting in a bloody explosion. It was an especially cruel weapon.

Having been forewarned, Kristoff was already prepped. With the remains of the drone in hand, he hurled it directly at his immediate foe, the man with the extended sideburns. The antagonist immediately crumpled to the ground with a soft cry and a hard thunk.

Mr. Friendly-Mutton-Chops froze for that instant allowing Kristoff to take the opportunity to drop to his right knee and slide forward toward his opponent. He grabbed the man's wrist, the one carrying the weapon, with his left hand, while his right leg slid in under his foe's long coat and wrapped itself behind the base of the other's left. With his head and shoulder making contact against his adversary, Kristoff applied pressure on the captured leg until the Duke's henchman toppled backward. The fall jarred the boiler from the man's hand. The next two moves allowed Kristoff to slide over and past the previously trapped leg, into side control, and then onto and over a stout belly. The violent action caused a coat button to pop and scatter on the floor. Wheezing sharply, the brown haired man struggled to breathe. Kristoff used his considerable bulk strategically to put painful pressure on the man's chest.

His opponent, as he struggled for air, made the mistake of reaching for Kristoff's throat with his right hand. Kristoff's response was to neatly catch the arm just below the elbow and snugly trap it against his body. With his left hand, he savagely pressed down on the side of his rival's head, applying considerable force and using the side of the man's skull as a pivot point. Kristoff's left leg swiftly passed around and over the henchman's anchored head, like a gymnast using a pommel horse. His right arm, still holding the man's arm solidly in place, was joined by his left. Both Kristoff's legs were now tightly positioned on the far side of his adversary's body.

With his soon-to-be victim's arm squarely captured, Kristoff leaned backward, making sure the man's thumb was pointed upwards, toward the ceiling. His legs pulled in against the burly man's body, his knees squeezed sharply together, and his hips rose. There was a loud crack, a painful shriek, and a feeble whimper as Kristoff broke the man's elbow in an armbar.

Meanwhile, Roxanna had apparently captured the remaining antagonist's boiler. Kristoff did likewise as he untangled himself from the injured strongman.

The entire encounter lasted mere seconds. Roxanna looked at the man on the floor wide eyed. The other assailant was just coming to, applying pressure to the side of his wounded head.

"Alright, Hans and Franz, you two better stay put if you know what's good for you," threatened Kristoff. His directive was answered by a series of moans. Roxanna seemed to wince at the words. "Come on," goaded Kristoff as he grabbed her free hand with his.

Together they ran straight through the lobby and out the main entrance. Neither of them looked back as they made a beeline for Sven.

Scurrying aboard the snowcat, Sven remarked, "Well, I can tell by your lack of breath that your visit with the Duke went exactly as I would have predicted. Let me guess what your next move is going to be ..."

"Sven, full ahead, flank speed!" demanded Kristoff. "Head straight out for the _Eternal Vortex_."

"Gee, I never would have guessed."

Kristoff grunted. As they sped past the Emporium's marquee, he caught a new message announcing, "This week only: the Duke, himself, will personally service the first fifty customers free. Anything goes. Act now!"

Roxanna had a smug grin on her face.

"I should be afraid of you, shouldn't I?" asked Kristoff.

"What do you mean?" she replied sweetly.

Kristoff's eyes suddenly narrowed as Roxanna continued to feign innocence."Okay, the gig's up. You've been playing everyone from the moment you got out of that crate. You're definitely not a utility robot, and with that show you put on back at the Duke's there's no way you're a softbot, either. Time to come clean."

"I have no idea what you're talking about. Hmph!"

Kristoff sighed. "Listen, feisty, no artificial construct—none—can break the three laws. You know, the Asimovian Laws of AI ... do I need to list them? Number one … you can't hurt any humans! You clocked the Duke back there in his office with a roundhouse. Not only that, that kick was no ordinary kick. You've trained. Spill the beans, Roxanna … if that's even your real name."

Roxanna looked down at her knees, then brought her eyes up to meet Kristoff's. "Okay. You got me. And maybe I let you believe what you wanted to believe." She pulled lightly against her braid, looking a little guilty. "So … my real name's ... Anna. Anna Agnarsdóttir." She fidgeted, and turned her head away from Kristoff. "And I made a mistake. A really bad mistake. A whole lot of mistakes, I guess … This might be one of them." Her head turned back around and she met Kristoff's eyes once more. "You see—where do I even begin?—I had an arranged marriage. I know. I _know_. Who does that? Right? Well, let's just say it's the way things work in my circle. And, honestly, the guy was _gorgeous_ , so it was an easy 'yes.' I was so stupid … planning the wedding … all the flowers … the chocolate, all that stuff … I fooled myself into thinking we were meant for each other ... and then I found out he was plotting to kill my sister, and then me, too."

* * *

 **A/N -** _For those of you who don't know:_

 _The Three Laws of Robotics (aka Asimov's Laws) - Created by science fiction author, Isaac Asimov (and introduced in 1942):_

 _A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm._

 _A robot must obey the orders given it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the First Law._

 _A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Laws._

 _(In the case of A255, these laws apply to any artificially intelligent entity)_

 _Rule 34 (from the Urban Dictionary) - Generally accepted internet rule that states that pornography or sexually related material exists for any conceivable subject._

 _Merkin - A pubic hair wig. They were popular back in the 1700s when mercury was used to treat STDs. Yeah, that was a good idea._

 _Erik and Francis - According to the Disney Wiki, these are the names of the Duke of Weselton's bodyguards._

 _Hans and Franz - Characters from the SNL skit, "Pumping Up with Hans & Franz." Hans and Franz were two Austrian bodybuilders. _


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:**

 **Standard disclaimer: I don't own Frozen or any of its characters. Disney owns the rights to these. This is a non-profit work of fan fiction. The only thing that belongs to me are the creepy creatures I've come up with, the general plot, and the futuristic elements populating this world/galaxy/universe.**

 **Thanks to the always busy cattleworks for feedback :)**

* * *

 **Plans Gone Awry**

" _Breaking News: Weselton Brimsby, proprietor of Duchy of Weselton-Pleasure Emporium, and affectionately known as 'the Duke,' was brutally assaulted this afternoon, along with members of his staff. The perpetrators, identified simply as Roxanna and Christopher, are at large. Inhabitants of Arendelle-255 are warned that the pair are armed and extremely dangerous._

 _Arendelle News was able to interview the Duke as he was being treated by medical staff:"_

" _Mr. Brimsby, can you share your experience with our audience?"_

" _Monsters! I tell you, they were monsters! Ah! My neck! Orderly! I need a fluffier pillow! This Roxanna, she is a cunning harlot … A devious diva! I stared straight into the freckled face of death." Cough, cough. "And her lacky, Christopher, a clumsy, moose-faced brute! The two of them destroyed my property, stole my goods and assaulted both myself and my staff. Oh! The agony! The injustice of it all! I offer a reward of ten_ —did I say ten?" Cough. "Of _one thousand credits, as well as a limited 25% discount to the Pleasure Emporium, for their capture, dead or alive!"_

" _Thank you, Mr. Brimsby ... The woman known as Roxanna, apparently the brains behind the operation, is described as having red hair, with freckles about her cheeks. She stands 5' 4" and is prone to random acts of violence. Her accomplice, the alleged 'moose-faced brute' Christopher, is described as muscular, with a prominent nose and blond, shaggy hair. He is just over 6' 2" and is also known to be violent."_

" _Yes, you heard it all here on Arendelle News, where the facts are nothing but the facts … And now a word from our sponsor, Oaken's Trading Post … Hoo, hoo!"_

"I've heard enough, that's for sure. Turn that off," ordered Kristoff. His eyes followed the holographic display as Oaken's face eroded into a series of sparkling points, then vanished altogether.

"Moose-faced," chuckled Sven. "Brains …" he snorted. "With that 25% discount, I'm tempted to head right back to the Duke's _Pleasure Emporium,_ and turn the two of you in."

"He's _not_ moose-faced. He has a manly nose, and I think he's actually kind of ha—" Anna caught herself midstream—"um, nevermind." Her cheeks glowed bright red and she quickly turned away.

Kristoff raised an eyebrow, but before he could process much further, the comment about "brains" eclipsed his thoughts. "Brains? Hey, wait a minute! So, Rox … um, I mean, Anna's been on this planet for … what? Half a day? And now she's the brains behind this operation? I didn't even know we had _any_ kind of operation!"

"Which illustrates exactly why she's the brains and you're not," mocked Sven.

"Oh, come on! And besides, let's get real … she'd be, I don't know, _dead_ inside of fifteen minutes if I left her out here alone," remarked Kristoff. He turned to Anna, "No offense."

"Hmph."

"Which makes you nothing but a useful tool," Sven added.

"Odin's balls," Kristoff blurted. Anna punched him, which, in retrospect, he should have expected. "Ouch! Will you quit that!" He sunk deeply into the seat, massaging his newly assaulted arm. "All I wanted today was to pick up a utility robot." He sighed heavily. "Instead, I've got a bounty on my head, and"—he motioned empathically—"I'm on the lam with the rock 'em, sock 'em redhead … along with a snowcat who keeps forgetting that his intelligence is _artificial_! Maybe I need to repeat that … artificial!"

"Yet, somehow," Sven added calmly, "I'm the one smart enough to keep out of the Duke's crosshairs."

"You think? Just wait until all the opportunists catch up with us. They'll be pulling you apart, piece by piece. Whatever's left'll end up in someone's scrap heap."

"Do you really think people will be out looking for us?" asked Anna. Her brow furrowed. There was more than an ounce of worry there.

Kristoff carefully thought out his response. The truth was that Arendelle-255 was teeming with dirtbags, and there were plenty that would mercilessly hunt them down if they could profit from it. "I have a plan. We're going someplace safe. I've got … um, family here. They can help restock our supplies and hide us until we figure things out." He frowned. "I won't say there won't be danger, because there's no avoiding it, but we should be good once we push into the _Vortex."_

Over the years, Kristoff had survived many threats and while he was worried, it was mostly for Anna. She was a newbie to the planet, and as spirited as she undoubtedly was, Arendelle-255 was a harsh mistress that didn't offer many second chances.

"What's this vortex thing? You've mentioned it a couple of times."

Kristoff looked at Anna briefly, then pointed out toward the horizon. If the elements could express an emotion, then what the pair witnessed in the distance was the embodiment of malevolent anger. Twisted and tortured fronts violently clashed, birthing writhing tendrils of raging snow that shot straight back into the sky, as brilliant flashes of ball lightning briefly inflamed the dense miasma from within. Even from their distance, the storm looked massive.

As the snowcat approached the Eternal Vortex, a strangely still wall of fog appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Anna's eyes widened, then rolled back into her head so that only the whites were showing. She grasped Kristoff's arm tightly, and spoke in a strangely distant voice. "The storm awakens. Enraged by its solitude, it strikes against all."

"What?" expressed Kristoff in bewilderment.

"A haiku," offered Sven.

"Hai-what? Nevermind. Sven, run an area scan. Run a scan on Anna, too." Kristoff turned to Anna, worried. Her body remained rigid, and her grip unrelenting.

"Not good news. There's something out there," warned Sven.

"Crap!" This could be serious. He cradled Anna and commanded, "Into the Vortex, buddy, as fast as you can take us!"

Anna still clung to him tightly, but then her grip relaxed. She shuddered and looked up at Kristoff with a gentle sigh. He was relieved to see that her eyes returned to their normal teal, although they still seemed somewhat unfocused.

"So lonely," she muttered.

"Huh? Sven, what about the scan on Fiesty? I don't know what's wrong with her … maybe some kind of seizure … ?"

To his surprise, Anna ran her fingers softly across his bicep and chest. She snuggled into him, breathing deeply, as if his very scent offered comfort, and presented him with a lazy smile, but then her eyes suddenly came alert and her expression fell flat. "Wh-what are you doing? "

"What am _I_ doing? Listen, you're the doer here … and what about the fit, or seizure, or whatever you just had! Is there something you're not telling me? You sure are full of surprises."

"Her pulse is somewhat elevated and there's a rise in her body temperature. I ran a cursory scan. I could dive deeper," interjected Sven.

"What? No! No scans. I'm okay," Anna assured everyone, although she did look flushed. Once again aware of her posture, she immediately distanced herself from Kristoff, letting go of his arm. She bit her lip then looked back at him with a measure of reproach, as if he had somehow taken advantage of her.

Maybe he took her expression the wrong way … regardless, it cut Kristoff like a razor, hard and deep. He wasn't expecting it, neither the accusing look nor his reaction to it. What was going on with him? To mask his hurt, he segued. "Sven, the area scan? Any more details?"

Sven projected an infrared scan in front of them. A distorted, but large, heat signature was displayed, indicating an object off in the distance from the snowcat, located at the epicenter of the mist.

"Jötnar?"

"I don't know; it would make sense … but something's not quite right about that signal."

"Maybe things are getting scrambled because of the Vortex?" Kristoff was puzzled. "Well, whatever the case, we'll soon be leaving it behind." No sooner did he utter those words that they smashed straight into the storm wall.

Swirling white, sometimes gray, snow enveloped them, violently buffeting the vehicle as it trudged headlong into the _Eternal Vortex._ The landscape was nothing but a frenzied blur, both visually and otherwise, occasionally aflame with the ball lightning spied earlier from a distance, but now much closer and intense. The flashes only served to obscure the visibility further as light refracted and scattered throughout the front. Battered by the ever-shifting wind, Sven struggled to maintain course, even with his heavy, purpose-built tracks.

Kristoff knew that only the most sophisticated equipment could track their progress through the Vortex; he doubted the Duke had access to any. That was one reason he decided to take this course. He opened a panel in the front console and rummaged through the compartment until his fingers settled on a cloth bag. Retrieving it, he opened it to find an oblong crystal of _alien_ origin. The crystal felt weighty and oddly warm to the touch.

A nearby aperture opened, as if by command, and Kristoff pushed the crystal into the enclosure, letting it settle there. Almost immediately, it began to pulse with light, emitting an amber glow.

"Locked and engaged," announced Sven. "We're on course."

Anna looked at Kristoff curiously. She seemed about to ask him a question, but he turned from her and slumped back into his seat. "Let me know if there's a problem, Sven." It was a long day, the screaming wind and the rocking of the snowcat made it impossible to truly relax, but he was going to try his damndest. He closed his eyes in an attempt to let the tension drain.

An hour had passed, maybe longer. Kristoff couldn't unwind, not really. It wasn't the raging storm that bothered him. He'd been through the Vortex plenty of times. And it wasn't even the sudden appearance of the fog that weighed on his mind—not that he was dismissive of that potential threat; inhabitants of Arendelle-255 always had to be wary. No, his problem was that he couldn't get Anna out of his head. Not only had she managed to get him sucked into a series of unsavory predicaments, but her very presence was causing him to act contrary to his instincts—and that was a fact that truely unsettled him. Wasn't he the guy who never got involved in other people's problems? He, of all people, should know better.

Adding to all of that, his gut told him that there was more to her story than she was letting on. Could he even trust her? In the long run, people were bound to screw you, and here he was, hopelessly tangled up with her. He was probably making a fatal mistake. And what sort of insanity had taken root in his mind to bring her to the _Trallis?_

She poked him. He ignored her. She poked him again, and he opened a single eye to look. The momentary sight of her took his breath away. _Idiot!_ It was another problem. He decided not to say a thing and continued to ignore her, closing his eye once again and breathing deeply. Not more than a second later he felt a wet finger enter his ear. He bolted upright. "Geez!"

"It's too quiet. We need to talk. Stop ignoring me."

He sighed. "There's a raging storm outside. I'd say it's not quiet enough." He rubbed at his ear. "You know, I'm beginning to understand why this fiance guy was plotting against you …"

Anna ignored his comment. "You mentioned family? What's that all about? Is this gonna be something like Oaken's family?"

Kristoff coughed violently. "What? No!"

"Hmm. Okay. And did we really have to throw ourselves into this Vortex thing? It looks a lot more dangerous than any of those weasel guys would ever be." She pointed to the windows that were being battered by the wind and snow.

"We're gonna have more than just those _weasel guys_ on our tail now." Kristoff grimaced. "Every living soul we run into from here on is a potential threat. The Duke's put a hefty bounty on our heads—you already know that." Anna looked at him intently, as if she was trying to read his mind and gauge the truth in his words. "As for my family, you'll be meeting them soon enough. But, um, fair warning, they _are_ a bit different … Maybe a lot different."

"Ah! So I was right! This _is_ going to be an Oaken-like family. Got it."

"You're infuriating."

She smiled at him mischievously, letting him know she was teasing. Just at that moment, Sven took a sudden turn, causing Anna to careen into Kristoff. "Hey!" they both exclaimed.

"You did that on purpose."

"I did not," countered Kristoff.

"I told you not to get any ideas … I'm pretty sure I made myself clear back at the Duke's." Anna attempted to recover as gracefully as she could.

"Gah. Did I mention that you're infuriating?"

"Hmph!"

The snowcat rapidly entered what looked like a natural depression, except for an invisible barrier that prevented the wind and snow from entering the area. It, otherwise, blended into the terrain. Gradually Sven moved deeper into what developed into a gulch. The noise from the storm was less prevalent now and they continued to travel another 20 meters before coming to a hidden tunnel entrance; soon they were underground, beneath the raging blizzard and the cab became relatively quiet.

Inside an expansive tunnel, multi-colored crystals lined the walls in odd patterns, illuminating their way. "Whoa," remarked Anna. Her head swiveled from left to right. "It's beautiful. What is this place?"

Kristoff smiled. "We're in the Cave of Crystals. It leads to where my family lives."

They trudged on for another ten minutes before the snowcat stopped upon arriving at an especially large cavern. Even more bright crystals were found here, illuminating its walls and ceiling. Various stalactites and stalagmites descended from the cavern's roof or rose from its floor. Crystals sprouted from them as well. The entire space was illuminated in a hue reminiscent of the morning sun surrounded by a sky full of scintillating stars.

Carved into the living rock, a variety of avant-garde buildings could be spotted. Small circular windows with distinct, thick, glass-like coverings gave the structures unique character. Each building's facade was typically covered in photoluminescent blue-green ivy, further distinguishing them from ordinary. In some cases, exotic flowers haphazardly grew in clumps showcasing a variety of distinct blooms. These blooms gave off their own light in a variety of pastels.

Kristoff and Anna exited the snowcat, with Anna turning to and fro as she pulled in the surroundings. They walked for a bit, when she suddenly stopped and twirled in a half-circle. "Wow. Kristoff, this is amazing! Your family lives here?" She place a hand just above her brow. "Oh, look, there's a bunch of other tunnels over there. Where do they go?" Then she pointed to a nearby building. "And look at all the glowing flowers!"

He laughed heartily. "It is amazing. Isn't it? Now just a warning, my family can be a little inappropriate … and loud. Yeah, loud …" He looked at her face briefly. "I'm not scaring you? Am I?"

Before Anna could reply, an oval hatch opened from one of the buildings. A host of creatures exited, each of them about as large as Kristoff, with a fair degree of variance. These creatures had oversized ears, and outsized noses. Their eyes were bulbous and uniformly dark. Their skin gray and rough surfaced.

"Trolls!" exclaimed Anna.

"Shhh. They don't like to be called 'trolls,' they call themselves the _Trallis._ "

"Oh, sorry. Yeah, I should know that … but ... they're your family?"

"It's a long story," answered Kristoff, giving her an awkward grin.

Soon enough, the group of Trallis were just steps away from Anna and Kristoff. Heading the procession was a hunched figure outfitted in a green robe adorned with yellow crystals. He came directly up to the pair. This Trallis sported a large mane of jagged green hair with yellow highlights. His worn teeth shown as he spoke, "Kristoff, it's good to see you! But why are you here? And who is this outsider you've brought with you?"

"Grand Pabbie, this is Anna. Anna, this is Pabbie. He's the leader of the Trallis, and my grandfather."

"It's very nice to meet you," responded Anna. "I've never actually met a Trallis before, although I've heard stories." The Trallis, of course, were a reclusive race who avoided contact with the outside world. Occasionally, denizens of the known universe would come in contact with them, but they famously vanished shortly thereafter, leaving behind rumours and scant knowledge regarding their origins, culture or general habits.

"A human," muttered someone from the crowd.

"It's puny," remarked another, "and has funny looking lumps on its chest."

"I like the spots around its nose!"

"You are a female human," stated Pabbie. "A woman. Yes?"

Anna nodded.

A less weathered Trallis wearing red crystals and with features resembling Pabbie's, but with short, straw colored hair, poked at Anna. "Soft. A lackluster mate for our Kristoff."

"Mom!" cried Kristoff.

Turning to Kristoff, she declared, "Deary, she's a bit of a fixer upper—don't you think?"

"Um… that's—"

Another Trallis embellished with blue crystals interrupted, "And she walks funny, too. I noticed the way her hips swayed when she walked away from Sven. That can't be normal!"

Kristoff attempted to respond, but his mother did so instead, "Now, Cliff, you know better. You shouldn't be pointing out this Anna's handicap. It's one thing to declare her inferior because of her less than sturdy appearance, but the poor dear likely has no control over the way she locomotes. Why, look at the proportion of her hips compared to her waist! It's no wonder she's a cripple."

Kristoff did a face palm. "What? Okay, that's enough! First of all, this isn't about me finding a _mate._ And, secondly, she's _actually_ quite beautiful by human standards …" It was in that instance that he realized what he had just said … out loud … in front of Anna. He could feel his face reddening. "I mean, not that I really noticed, or anything. Um …" He avoided making eye contact with her and turned to Grand Pabbie. "The point I'm trying to make is that we need your help. We ran into some trouble." Kristoff paused, then began to recount the events leading up to the moment. "It all started when I went to pick up a utility robot from Oaken's …"

A short time later, Grand Pabbie sighed and nodded in acknowledgement. "I see. Well, yes, of course. We'll see what we can do to repair Sven, restock your supplies, etc. We'll be monitoring outside activity on the surface, just in case you may have been traced. In the interim, feel free to stay for as long as you like. It's always good to have you, Kristoff. And any friend of yours is welcome as well. Welcome Anna."

Anna's stomach rumbled. "Speaking of supplies. Is there any chance I could get a sandwich somehow?"

Her question was answered with a peal of laughter.

 _~* In the House of Westergaard, on the planet Isles, part of the Epsilon Crucis system *~_

Prince Hans Westergard of Crux carefully regarded himself in a mirror held by his robo-servant, Sitron. The Prince's auburn locks were immaculate, including his perfectly groomed sideburns. He rehearsed a gamut of expressions: sincere, concerned, mournful, and hopeful to name a few. "How was that, Sitron?"

"Impressive, as usual, Your Highness," replied Sitron. "The convincing range of your expressions are ever increasing. Using the most sophisticated biometrics, I could only judge that your emotions are nothing but sincere." The robo-servant was programmed to never lie.

"Hmm, yes, of course." He brushed at his coattails and adjusted his maroon cravat. The pale blue blouse he wore was tailored precisely to fit his athletic frame, accentuating his broad shoulders and trim waist. It was important to convey his message properly. Crown Princess Elsa of Corona Borealis was famous for her attention to detail, and news regarding the disappearance of her sister had to be delivered with the right measure of emotion and exactitude. "Check my vestments for lint, will you? I want to make sure everything's perfect."

It galled him. How that blasted red-headed ninny left the planet undetected left him in a twist. Heads were already rolling. His carefully laid plans were ruined and now it was time for some triage to salvage what he could.

It had taken years—yes, years—of research and careful timing to spring his scheme and arrange a marriage to Princess Anna. She was young and naive and about as close a chance to ascension to a throne as Hans could hope to get. Being thirteenth in the line of succession meant him having to game the system. And now all his plans had been laid to waste.

What was of more concern was why she had left … no, fled the planet. Initial investigation had unearthed a certain B-9 robot abandoned in a shipping bay. Further digging revealed that the robot was slated to be transported to Arendelle-255—a ghastly, lawless, frostbitten planet on the outskirts of the known universe. That she was clever enough to effectively disappear surprised him. That she escaped to a planet as miserable as Arendelle-255, did not.

Had Anna somehow gotten wind of his scheme? _Impossible!_ Yet, it made the most sense. Hans had only gotten as far as he had due to the fact he never underestimated his prey. If … _if …_ Anna had somehow figured out his plans to usurp the Corona Borealis throne, he would need to arrange for an accident. He wished he could rectify the situation and continue with his original strategy, but sadly, the only safe course was to eliminate the princess. Well, there was always _Plan B._ Rumor had it that a long lost princess had resurfaced in Corona Australis.

Hans walked beside his robo-servant, catching glimpses of himself on its polished white surface. He had already instructed hand picked members of his personal guard—each of whom were selected from the Crux Special Forces and extensively trained in hand-to-hand combat as well as military tactics—to form a _rescue_ squad and find the Princess. By _rescue_ he, naturally, meant _assassination._

Eliminate the Princess was the prime decree. If circumstances dictated, he would arrange for the _tragic_ malfunction of the rescue ship's drive. The antimatter containment field's sudden collapse would prove a mystery to all. The resulting explosion would leave no trace. It was a last resort, but a necessary precaution. He hated wasting well trained troops, as well as such a fine ship. In any case, Princess Anna must never surface, nor could his own secrets ever be revealed.

As they approached the palace's private interstellar communications center, Hans took a few deep breaths to prep himself. Gradually, he managed to summon the necessary emotions. He concentrated on the memory of his three older brother's who ignored him for two years. Tears began to cascade down his cheeks. "Sitron, open a channel to Princess Elsa." There was, of course, a private line that existed between the two royal houses.

A two dimensional projection appeared a few minutes later, revealing a spectacularly beautiful woman with deep blue eyes and platinum blonde hair, not that beauty ever stirred Hans. His lust was for power.

"Elsa! Forgive me, Your Royal Highness!"

"Prince Hans?" He could see her take in his visage and her face suddenly showed concern. "What … what's happened?"

Hans got down on one knee. Clutching his chest, and barely containing his emotions, he beseeched the Crown Princess, "I beg your forgiveness. I have the gravest news … " He sobbed, but then managed to get himself under control. "Elsa, dear sister … I-I don't know how to say this any other way … so let me speak plainly … Anna, our beloved Anna, has been k-kidnapped."

"What!" Princess Elsa's expression immediately crumbled. She, staggered momentarily, but then recovered. He knew the sisters were close and that was a weakness. _The fool!_

"I know. I know. I feel the same way exactly. Anna is the love of my life! I promise, I will do everything possible to get her back, unharmed."

"D-do you have any idea who the kidnappers are?"

"As far as we know right now, it's only one person. His name … the bastard's name"—Hans's expression changed swiftly to exhibit unbridled hatred—"is Kristoff Bjorgman."

* * *

 **A/N -** _Boom!_

 _Originally, I wasn't intending to bring Hans' perspective into this chapter (or any chapter). I'm still not sure if it's a good call. Let me know what you think._

 _Oh, and in case you didn't know, Crux is the constellation known as the "Southern Cross." Epsilon Crucis is an orange hued star that is part of that system. Whereas, Corona Borealis and Corona Australis are the constellations known as the Northern and Southern Crowns, respectively._


	5. Chapter 5

**Grendel**

It had been several days since their arrival. Because the repairs on the tundra had only been a stopgap, Kristoff spent a good portion of that time slaving over Sven in one of the side tunnels, readying for their inevitable departure. Anna helped. While she was obviously inexperienced with snowcat maintenance, she had an iron determination and formidable will that impressed him.

As the days passed and they kept working in the oppressive cavern heat, various thoughts would run through his mind. He should have been angry with Anna for putting him in this predicament. Instead, he found himself often laughing at her antics, intentional or otherwise. Soon, he found himself taking surreptitious glances at her just to get a glimpse of her smile … or the sparkle in her beautiful teal eyes. It was as if she had some kind of magnetic draw on him.

On a serious note, he had to wonder if his life as a harvester was over. With a new enemy like the Duke, he had no idea how he was going to get things back to normal. So much for his plans to leave Arendelle-255 with an abundance of credits. At this point, he might be lucky just to get off the planet alive. _Well, I survived Skallagrim. Things couldn't get worse than that._

Kristoff tapped a spanner against the metallic portion of the tread he had been working on. He was grateful to the Trallis for creating replacement parts—it was necessary for them to be self-sufficient because of their limited contact with the outside world. He certainly didn't want to take advantage of Pabbie's or the Trallis's generosity, but under the circumstances, his chances of acquiring spare parts through ordinary channels was close to nil.

His thoughts momentarily flashed forward. If he did have to leave the planet, would Anna accompany him? She couldn't very well stay here, or could she? He inwardly sighed. _Borgman, you're getting way ahead of yourself._ He'd only known the woman a few days. It was just a series of bizarre events that held them together in the first place.

Given his less than ideal upbringing on Skallagrim, and then the subsequent frenzied departure to Arendelle-255, he had long since dismissed any thoughts of romance. Kristoff had reconciled himself to a solitary future, but … _but_... he was coming to realize for the first time that Anna was somehow _special_. Then his mind did that thing … He found himself seesawing between, _Anna is just wonderful_ and _You've flipped your lid!_ Faced with self-contradictions, he grew furious with himself.

The heat in his work area brought him back to his senses. Not surprisingly, it was warm inside the open space due to the heavy geothermal activity, and Kristoff found himself wiping the sweat from his brow as he tinkered with the idler. Because he was alone, he had stripped down to his bare chest, exposing his muscled torso and the host of scars that were normally hidden from view.

Sweat ran down his body, down each nook and cranny of exposed flesh, to even the undersides of his forearms, where the crimson brands he guarded from public view were prominently displayed.

The hardened musculature of his torso glistened under the myriad crystals illuminating the cavern. He was glad that Anna wasn't here at the moment. He was afraid she might ask questions.

Glancing at the brands, he grimaced. _You know what you are!_ As a child back in the 61 Ursae Majoris system, his life wasn't his own. The minders treated him and the other _orphans_ with little regard. He swore an oath to Odin, the Allfather, and Thor, God of Thunder, like the others. Their ultimate goal was to seek entry into the Halls of Valhalla. It truly was survival of the fittest as they competed against each other on a regular basis. Many had perished, some at Kristoff's own hands … it was all part of the training … or so he told himself as he futilely sought after redemption.

That part of his life had been shed. He had taken on a new life and persona, one filled with hard, albeit honest, work and ...

His thoughts were interrupted as he heard singing from a distance. _Anna!_  
"Odin's balls!" he bellowed as he scrambled to grab his shirt.

"I heard that!" Anna announced as she came around the corner.

"Of course you did … because if a man swears in a cave and there's no woman there to yell at him, then what's the point?"

Anna, arms akimbo, stared him down. "Well, at least you're finally catching on." Her eyes narrowed as Kristoff hastily buttoned his shirt. "Are you trying to hide something?"

"What?"

"You're a little old to be bashful, don't you think?"

"And you're just fishing for a reason to see me with my shirt off," he fired back, congratulating himself on his quick wit as a smug grin waxed across his face.

"Oh, Kristoff."

Anna effortlessly closed the distance between them. He reminded himself on exactly how briskly she could move when she put her mind to it. Her delicate hands drifted across his chest, lightly lingering there, and she looked up at him, teal eyes wide, lips almost trembling.

In that instance, Kristoff's mind went completely offline. He stupidly thought about kissing her … that is until she deftly sprang away from him, pulling his shirt away with her. _How did she do that?_

"Ha!" she crowed triumphantly. "If I wanted to see you with your shirt off … Well, see how easy that was?"

"Why, you little …" He stopped himself short of completing his sentence. "You played me." And Kristoff felt like a fool for being manipulated so easily.

But then Anna's eyes took focus of Kristoff's bare chest. Both her voice and expression changed. "Kristoff …" she whispered apologetically.

" _What_?" he defiantly asked, holding himself straight with dignity.

Her eyes darted back-and-forth over the criss-crossed scars marring his torso.

"Are you satisfied?" he added as he plucked the shirt from her hand. Instinctively, he turned his back, no doubt exposing even more scars to her view, and proceeded to button up.

"I didn't know," Anna limply offered. "I'm _so_ sorry."

"I don't need your sympathy, _Anna_ ," he stated flatly. He let anger get the better of him. "Not all of us can live privileged lives." He turned to face her.

The comment sparked something. Those teal eyes carried storm clouds with them. "What do you really know about my life?" she angrily shot back. "Privilege? Imprisoned in a gilded cage? Not having a chance to even grow up knowing my sister?" She blushed at her own words, seemingly having said too much. "You have no idea …" a fading voice mumbled.

For that second, she was vulnerable. It was the first time Kristoff had seen her like that. He closed the gap between them as quickly as she had done moments ago.

Grabbing her by the waist, Kristoff pulled Anna in close and then did the thing brewing steadily just under the surface of his consciousness. He kissed her.

She yielded into his arms, accepting his kiss, but then her body stiffened and she pushed back with surprising strength. A sharp crack resonated within the cavern walls as the flat of her hand made contact with his cheek. "How dare you!"

He watched her storm off, feeling guilty, stupid, and awkward. _You blew it, you fucking idiot! What the hell were you thinking?_

* * *

The _HMS Grendel,_ a sleek corvette sporting the markings of the _Imperial Navy of Epsilon Crucis_ flew rapidly from its home planet of Isles. It's destination, of course, was Arendelle-255.

Kaptajnløjnant DeVos surveyed the hard faces of his troops, volunteers from Prince Hans' personal guard. The small contingent consisted of a single squad of men, every one of them combat veterans and each of them belonging at one time to the Isles's _Speciel Rumtjeneste_ _._ They were the best of the best and DeVos knew that they could rival, man for man, any military unit in the known universe, with the alleged exception of the infamous, but now expired, Zerkers.

He wryly smiled to himself as he replayed the ridiculous legends in his mind. _Zerkers …_ their strength and speed of execution was, obviously, nonsense. He had, like every soldier, heard the propaganda …

 _I'll ask of the Ulfheðnar, you tasters of blood,_

 _Those who wade out into battle?_

 _Wolf-skinned they are called._

 _Red with blood are they when they come to fight._

 _As strong as bears, they kill with a single blow,_

 _But neither lasgun'_ _s fire nor steel told upon them._

The Kaptajnløjnant snickered in amusement. The "tasters of blood" were a preposterous allusion to the carrion birds that came to feast on the dead after an encounter with the Zerkers. Before battle, Zerkers were said to _hamask,_ entering a state of fury and gaining the strength, speed, and ferocity of wolf and bear. _Rubbish, of course._ Either way, the Zerkers no longer existed, having been wiped from the face of the Universe some four _Standard Years_ back. A _cloaked_ planet buster had been employed to destroy them. DeVos only wished he could have been there as the pan-galactic fleet obliterated this nuisance.

The troop cabin was, naturally, spartan. Exposed pipes and cables ran throughout various locations on the bulkheads, falling short on aesthetics. This was ever so obviously _not_ a luxury yacht.

He briefed his troops about the upcoming operation. The cabin dimmed as a holographic image of the planet was summoned forth with key locations marked. Bright red arrows were projected against the globe, noting the specific areas of interest.

"Arendelle-255 is an arctic wasteland. You've all heard of it, no doubt, since it's the sole source of _Arendellian Ice._ It's remote location has left it largely lawless and shrouded in obscurity. If it wasn't for that goddamned ice, it's doubtful anyone would have bothered to settle this miserable planet. The dangers are plenty, both through the elements and from the indigenous life forms." He paused for emphasis. "You've trained well, and even though this operation should be a piece of cake, proceed with caution."

He continued by pointing out their landing site. "This is Arendelle City …" The holographic globe zoomed in so that only a portion of it was now visible. "We'll be landing at the one and only spaceport," he continued. "Our mission is to rescue this woman," he lied. A new hologram of a pretty redhead showed up next to the globe.

"She's a little hottie!" one of the sergeants exclaimed, followed by a host of wolf-whistles.

"Keep it in your pants, Olsen. And that goes for the rest of you, too. Just a reminder to you all, no chit-chatting with this one. We're under strict orders, including myself, against engaging in any casual conversation with her. So, let me remind you, you don't ask her any questions, and you don't talk to her about anything personal. This is strictly business."

The real mission was to eliminate the woman, along with her kidnapper and accomplices, as quickly as possible. It was explained to DeVos that her death had to be arranged to look like an accident. The others were to be handled with extreme prejudice. Prince Hans had emphasized the need for secrecy. The less people that knew the truth, the better.

He continued to inform his men of their mission. Each of them were sent a brief to study on Arendelle's pitfalls. He also addressed the Intelligence on the kidnapper. "We don't know a whole lot about him other than he's a tall, blond ice harvester named Kristoff Bjorgman, probably out to make a quick buck. Intel is unusually sparse. We'll assume the worst, but it's doubtful he'll be a threat." DeVos paused. "Well, regardless, this backwoods _bondeknold_ never counted on us." He smiled broadly, noting that his troops wore similar grins. "Our orders are to eliminate this _ass-banana_. No quarter is to be given. In fact, we're here to inflict as much pain as possible. We need to make an example of this _pikspiller_."

A cheer rose from amongst the men.

* * *

The next several days proved uncomfortable. Prior to the ill-fated kiss, Kristoff 's feelings were already mixed up towards Anna, but now it was even worse. He wished he could take it all back. What had possessed him? Although the memory of her soft lips pressed against his would forever be etched in his mind. _She did seem to like it … at first._ He grunted.

Maybe the smarter thing to have done was to walk out of Oaken's without her? But he flinched at the thought. It was difficult to admit, but, like it or not, he was attracted to Anna, Roxanna, or whoever she _really_ was, from the moment he laid eyes on her. "Odin's balls!"

Anna looked at him with disgust. While she continued to work alongside him, she was uncharacteristically silent, at least for her. Their conversation was primarily monosyllabic, "yep," "nope," or a series of hand motions. And now he could add looks of contempt to his list. It was driving him mad.

On numerous occasions, he tried to apologize, but at each failed attempt, Anna would drop her tools, emit a "hmph" and haughtily walk away. It was almost as if she knew what he was going to say, and rejected it, before anything even came out of his mouth. How was he ever going to fix this?

They had just finished coating Sven with a new stealth finish that made the snowcat difficult to detect both visually and otherwise—another gift from the Trallis who always had a technological edge over everyone else—when Pabbie lumbered in.

Anna still avoided making eye contact with Kristoff, even with Pabbie's entrance. Kristoff was about to comment but the elder Trallis's presence would have made it awkward.

"Kristoff … there you are. We have matters of importance to discuss."

Kristoff raised an eyebrow.

Pabbie continued, "As you know, we like to keep an eye on the outside world. We've monitored a series of interstellar transmissions between the Duke and a military vessel from the Crucis system."

Anna's eyes widened. "Hans," was the only thing she uttered, but that brief trickle ended as abruptly as it came. Pabbie looked at her as if he understood.

"Apparently, this ship is on its way to Arendelle-255 to find Anna, and to deal with, um, her kidnapper." Pabbie looked directly at Kristoff when he mentioned kidnapper.

"Kidnapper? You're shi … err, you've got to be kidding me." He glanced at Anna briefly. She actually made eye contact with him and he almost smiled.

"I'm afraid that bodes ill for all of us, especially you, Kristoff." Pabbie looked uncomfortable with what he had to say next. "With a military grade vessel coming this way, we … we …"

Kristoff understood immediately. The Trallis were in danger of being discovered. A war vessel would come with the most sophisticated surveillance equipment. And even though the Trallis were experts at illusion, they could possibly be detected. He turned to Pabbie. "How long do we have?"

"About a week. This vessel, the _Grendel,_ has to make a series of strategic jumps before it can get here. You know Arendelle's difficult to get to because of the scarcity of wormholes along the way."

"Right." Well, this was just adding fuel to the fire. A military grade vessel? Who was this ex-fiance Anna was fleeing from? _Hans?_ And what kind of secrets was Anna holding that would warrant such extremes? Not only that, but how the hell had he been misidentified as a kidnapper?

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck._ He hated where this was going. He hated to ask. "We might need a cloaking suit or two." That, and weapons … and … and the one thing Kristoff had sworn to leave buried in his past. A single angry tear of resolve ran down his cheek.

* * *

 **A/N -** _Yeah, I suck. It's been a long time since I've updated. I'm not sure if there's anyone still reading this story. If there are, reviews or comments are always appreciated._


	6. Chapter 6

**Mysteries in the Mist**

It was a little unsettling stepping into his old room. He drew his breath in sharply through clenched teeth—memories of Skallagrim came flooding back as his eyes settled on the runes inscribed above the door: ᛟᛞᛁᚾ. Silently, he mouthed the letters … Othala … Dagaz … Isa … Nauthiz … A sudden chill washed over him as his eyes darted from wall to wall, taking in other runic symbols and the power they projected. There were plenty of reminders fixed throughout the small chamber from his troubled past. Up until now, Kristoff had been avoiding coming to this room and slept inside his snowcat instead. It was even more unsettling knowing that Anna had taken up residence here.

For the most part, the space looked the same as he remembered it. It was obvious that Bulda had maintained the chamber, although it now had a few Anna enhancements, like a vase overflowing with flowers perched on the solitary desk, along with a few strategically placed wreaths tacked on the walls.

Some things were distinctly the same however. There was his Hnefatafl set—a game vaguely similar to chess—sitting next to Anna's flowers. He even noticed his old guitar, its fret board worn through use, leaning on a stand in the corner.

He walked over to the rough-hewn desk and stood over the carved crystal Hnefatafl pieces, each token hovering in mid-play. Pabbie had chosen the position of attacker, while Kristoff had played the defender. The attacking force outnumbered the defending force—its objective to capture the defender's King. Kristoff was particularly good at this game, but had left it unfinished. He sighed, suddenly struck by a wave of nostalgia. _Am I ever going to be able to break free of my past?_

At eighteen, quite young by Trallis standards, he had struck out on his own to become an ice harvester, partially to leave his past behind, partially because it was time to forge a new destiny. He still remembered it as if it were yesterday. Bulda was upset, naturally—she had grown very attached to him over the year they spent together—but she reluctantly understood. He left the Trallis community with the reminder that he would always be welcomed back, that this would always be his home—yet he had been pestered by a persistent itch, and with that came the certain knowledge that he could never really settle here.

He shook the memories from his head. _No time for that now._

Kristoff made his way to his former bed, surprised to find it covered with a spread adorned with a snowflake motif. As he came closer, he picked up _her_ scent. Again, he drew his breath in sharply. Her essence was subtly different than what he was used to, pleasant to be sure, but, quite frankly, it left him feeling miserable. He was assaulted by jumbled emotions. Every waking moment was consumed with thoughts of her. _What the hell is going on with me?_

After Pabbie's announcement regarding the approaching Crucis ship, Anna had softened toward him … slightly. The barrier between them hadn't quite fallen and, unfortunately, still held firm enough.

 _Idiot._ By now he was used to blaming himself for that kiss.

He crouched by the bed and reached underneath. His arm stretched as far as it would go until his fingers came in contact with a solid object. _It's still here!_ He was confident it would be, yet wasn't sure if he should be relieved, horrified, or grateful.

Gently, he pulled the object back toward himself, revealing a rectangular wooden box covered by giant motes of dust.

He blew on the cover, which promptly caused him to sneeze as particles scattered in the air. Wiping his nose on his sleeve, he stood upright, and went searching for a suitable rag.

Placing the box on the table, next to the Hnefatafl set, he then wiped down its surface. There, etched into the lid in bas-relief, were three stylized images. Odin, the Allfather, stood in the center. On either side of him stood two figures, each carved with the bodies of men, but curiously adorned with the heads of animals. _Bjørn and ulv …_ A red petal from the nearby vase fell and drifted toward the box until Kristoff caught it in mid-air.

 _Am I doing the right thing?_ If he had been the only person to consider, there would be no need for debate. His heart pulsed a little faster as he finalized his decision and retrieved a storage bag to stow the container. He cursed himself for the promise broken, yet he didn't dare risk the alternative.

Collecting the bag and its contents, he nervously scanned the room once again, eyes settling on his old guitar. He hadn't touched it, nor any musical instrument, since he moved on to start his new life. Walking closer, he noticed it had new strings. _Huh._

Picking it up by its neck, he strummed a few chords, surprised to find that it was even in tune. Kristoff smiled. _Anna?_ On impulse, he decided to bring it along. Or maybe it wasn't so much impulse as him hoping he could use this to break the ice. At the very least, it would serve as a diversion for the real reason he actually came back to this room.

Maybe he shouldn't have been too surprised to see Anna in deep conversation with Bulda when he approached his snowcat. The two had bonded during the time spent in the Trallis enclave. It was quite a turnaround, considering his mother's first impression of Anna—apparently not quite the fixer upper she initially claimed.

Pabbie, Cliff and the others were huddled nearby, with a few of the younger Trallis using Sven as if he was a playground fixture.

Sven cried out in mock pain, "Ouch, ouch … Ahhh!" as one youthful imp ran across his rooftop, footsteps echoing heavily in the confines of the cavern. There was a burst of laughter accompanied by giggles from Trallis cubs still on the ground.

Bulda, turning toward the young Trallis, shouted, "Rock, stop that right now! You children need to behave." The boy froze mid-step, not daring to defy her stern command. A few others perched to make the same climb immediately dropped to the floor. The rest just froze in place.

Anna looked on in amusement, her eyes sparkling in the crystal imbued light. It was obvious she relished the antics of the young Trallis. Kristoff wouldn't have been surprised if she joined them. He could easily picture her running along Sven's roof.

Her eyes wandered until their gazes met, at which point her expression lost a little of its glow. Bulda leaned in and whispered in her ear, causing her to smile once more, although the corners of her mouth never quite reached her eyes, as they typically did.

Kristoff shrugged it off and walked into the middle of the fray. "Hi, everybody. Thanks, for coming to say 'Goodbye.'"

He was greeted by a host of Trallis children instantly scrambling toward him. "Kristoff! Uncle Kristoff!" they shouted independently until their echoing voices became unintelligible.

Bulda grabbed him from behind in a huge hug. She held him firmly against her body and Kristoff was barely able to croak, "Mom!"

"Kristoff, deary, you be careful out there. And, take care of your Anna, too." Then she pseudo whispered in his ear, a whisper that could be overheard by everyone, "I approve. She has really good teeth, and even though she does walk a bit funny, I think she'd make you a great wife."

"Mom!" Kristoff cried, this time out of embarrassment. A quick glance revealed Anna reacting the same way, as her face turned beet red.

Cliff interjected. "Your mother's right. Take care, my boy, and come back as soon as it's safe." He paused to discreetly whisper in Kristoff's ear, "Make sure you bring Anna with you." Then he winked.

Kristoff managed to grin sheepishly.

There was a soft brush against his shoulder. Turning, he encountered Pabbie.

"Kristoff, we've prepared a few items for you and Anna. I hope you'll find them useful in the path going forward. I took the liberty of leaving them with Sven." The elder Trallis paused briefly, motioning to one of the subordinates, who quickly handed him an object wrapped in thick cloth. "It's a parting gift. I prepared it myself."

Pabbie carefully observed Kristoff as he handed him the gift. "You must come to terms with your past."

Kristoff accepted the offering, not really knowing what to say.

"Well, open it. Don't just stand there like a big lump," Anna chastised.

He gave her an awkward smile and turned to his grandfather. "Um, thanks, Pabbie." Opening the package, he found himself staring at a one handed axe. The haft was carefully crafted, and reinforced with a winding metal band. The head was incredibly well forged, with its single edge clearly consisting of another metal, keen as a razor, and coming to sharp points on either end. Overall, the axe looked beguilingly simple, but its superb balance, the quality of its materials and efficient design told otherwise.

It was a ceremonial gesture, this gift. Kristoff understood that. Pabbie was aware that this had been a Skallagrim rite of passage. Years ago, at the age of twelve, Kristoff had acquired just such an axe after a grueling series of trials.

"Vápnum sínum skala maðr velli á feti ganga framar," recited Pabbie in old Skalla.

Ann's brow furrowed. She looked at the axe, and then both Pabbie and Kristoff. "What? Are we planning on going someplace with a lot of trees?"

"It's a thing from my youth. A ritual gift, you might say. I doubt we'll be chopping down any trees with it," Kristoff answered, suppressing a grin.

She shrugged her shoulders. "Hmph."

"Well, thanks, Grand Pabbie." He hastily wrapped the axe back up, and took hold of the rest of his gear. "I think we should get going. I want to clear as much distance between us and the Cave of Crystals before that Crucis ship lands. We're going way down the jang-jeng hole on this one."

"Jang-jeng? Is that something like a rabbit?" asked Anna.

"More like a hairy spider. Real tasty … at least I think so."

"Ewww. I hope you're kidding. You are kidding—right? Please tell me you're kidding." No one responded.

Shortly thereafter, he and Anna offered their final greetings.

As they boarded Sven, Kristoff noticed Anna eyeballing the bag containing his guitar, which he placed in the back of the cab. If she was curious about it, she failed to comment. Soon, they were seated and off through one of the side tunnels, traversing back to the surface to meet the harsh climate of Arendelle-255.

The tunnel brought them to a different exit location. As soon as they reached the surface, they were buffeted by the intense winds of the Eternal Vortex. Sven trudged ahead, traveling north, away from Arendelle City and eventually toward the open tundra, where some of the most desolate areas on the planet could be found.

Meanwhile, Anna remained uncharacteristically quiet as they fought their way through the storm. When she did talk, it was directly to Sven and not to him, although there was one instance when ball lightning hurled directly at their vehicle, only to veer off at the last second ... Anna grabbed tightly onto Kristoff's arm then, and shouted, "Kris!" Sadly, she quickly withdrew her hand and continued to ignore him, not even mentioning the incident.

When they finally cleared the Vortex, Kristoff was relieved that Anna hadn't had the same kind of seizure she experienced during their first run. In fact, it was interesting to note that during their entire stay with the Trallis, she was seizure-free. Like all the mysteries shrouding the young woman, he wondered what she still wasn't telling—it was one, of many, important pieces in the jigsaw puzzle that was Anna.

There were still a few villages this side of the storm front. Kristoff avoided them, choosing instead to camp overnight in one of the less popular thermal glades. He scouted the perimeter, looking for signs of harvesters or anything suspicious. With the Duke's bounty on their heads, he didn't want to take any chances.

Helping to keep a low profile was the new Trallis paint. Snowcats were traditionally painted Arctic Orange. Sven was now coated in a finish that could transform at the toggling of a switch. Not only was the snowcat's IR signature reduced, but Sven could now take on the very colors of the surrounding terrain, making him difficult to track or observe.

As they approached the oasis, Anna's interest in her surroundings piqued. Arriving at their first stop, she stepped out of the cat, amazed by the photoluminescence of the flora. "Oh my God, Kristoff. It's beautiful!" Her eyes darted back and forth, absorbing the scene around her, soaking in the trees draped with sparkling blue moss, and the various flowers clustered about the myriad thermal springs. Hidden in all that vegetation, small creatures could occasionally be seen scurrying to and fro.

Kristoff's face was painted with a broad grin. He was happily surprised that Anna had finally acknowledged him, too. "We're going to camp here overnight. Make sure you stay close to either Sven or me."

She gave him a funny look.

"Don't worry, you'll be sleeping inside the snowcat tonight without my company; I'll be outside. Sven can keep you entertained. Just make sure you don't go wandering far from camp."

"I'm not some little girl, you know."

"You could be Oaken, and I'd tell you the same thing …" Kristoff rubbed at his chin. "Hmm, on second thought, if you were Oaken, I just might encourage you to wander." He smiled at his own joke.

Anna responded by sticking her tongue out at him.

Kristoff chuckled as he left to scout the perimeter. When he returned, he was surprised that Anna had set up a makeshift table with some sandwiches laid out on a spread. They ate in semi-silence, although Anna's eyes continued to dart to and fro, mesmerized by the teeming life in the glade. He helped her clean up once they were done and went off to set up for bed.

On impulse, he grabbed his guitar. As dusk set in, the moss seemed to grow brighter, its blue hue mixing with a sky full of scintillating stars, and casting him in a patchwork of faint speckled light.

He sang a song from the _Edda_ , delving deep into his roots and those of his forefathers, remembering warm nights on Skallagrim, where two moons would illuminate the night sky. The ancient words, preserved through countless generations, reverberated with his rich baritone and blended with the chirps and cries of the omnipresent fauna.

 _The sun, the sister_

 _Of the moon, from the south_

 _Her right hand cast_

 _Over heaven's rim;_

His fingers came alive as they danced across the strings, muscle memory overtaking his consciousness and spontaneously producing music as if his guitar was playing itself.

 _No knowledge she had_

 _Where her home should be,_

He felt a presence, her presence from behind, but didn't turn. He drew in his breath through his nose, trying to capture her scent, and exhaled as he sang.

 _The moon knew not_

 _What might was his,_

 _The stars knew not,_

 _Where their stations were._

Light footsteps shyly backed away, back toward Sven. Kristoff put his guitar aside once he knew she was aboard the snowcat, and nestled into his sleeping bag, one hand seeking comfort in the battle axe Pabbie had gifted him, the other resting on a railgun. _Vápnum sínum skala maðr velli á feti ganga framar,_ he recalled—A man should never step away from his weapons.

* * *

Several days had passed as they made their way further north. Kristoff knew that Grendel's crew would be arriving any day now, and that had him worried.

Each night he would take them to another oasis after surveilling it. And each night he would sing right before he went to bed. Anna would surreptitiously come up behind him, never saying a word and he, in turn, would pretend he didn't know she was there.

One morning, he found a small hot spring suitable for bathing. Up until this point, they had been cleaning themselves by using hot water and a sponge. "Let me know when you're done." He had made sure there were no ice wraiths hidden in the area and wandered off, out of sight but within earshot.

When she shouted she was done, he returned to find her, her hair wet and unbraided, wearing an outfit she had acquired from Oaken's. Her face was ruddy from the heat of the water, and Kristoff thought she looked positively radiant. Her aquamarine eyes reminded him of the glowing spores given off by the moss, only more beautiful. The tension between them still existed, but he hoped to make some inroads with her by presenting her with a bouquet of flowers.

The flowers, some of the best he could find, carried the same photoluminescent glow that Anna seemed to be so fond of. He paid careful attention, picking the most fragrant and colorful he could find, but standing here in front of her he began to have some doubt.

"What are you hiding behind your back?" She looked at him suspiciously. "This better not be something stupid."

 _Crap. Maybe this isn't such a good idea?_ "Uh, nothing." He began to back off from her.

"Kristoff!"

"What?" _I'm going to screw this up again …_

She came closer, close enough to poke him straight in the chest. "What. Are. You. Hiding," she emphatically voiced, her fingers keeping rhythm with each word as they attacked his torso.

At this point, Kristoff figured the jig was up. "Um, here." He pulled the bouquet from behind his back and stiffly presented it to her. "I saw the vase full of flowers in my, um, your room … and figured you might like these," he blurted, feeling especially dumb.

"Oh. Oh!" Anna's eyes lit up.

That night, she stood behind him as he sang and surprised him by accompanying him for the first time. He continued to sing with their voices blending together in harmony and his heart beating a little bit faster. _She has a lovely voice,_ were among his last thoughts as she slunk off and he settled in for a night's sleep.

* * *

Running on the open tundra could be disorienting, especially when there were no significant landmarks. Kristoff had always had a keen sense of direction, but Anna did not. They were on a long desolate run through some of the flattest terrain in the Northern Hemisphere.

"Everything looks the same. It's just miles and miles of white, with an occasional pokey rock sticking out of the snow."

"Boring is good, Anna. This is Arendelle-255. You can find plenty of excitement, it's just never the kind of excitement you want."

As if his words were a portent, Sven slowed his pace considerably. Frozen in place was an entire herd of lopers—a deer-like species introduced to the planet over a century ago. There must have been over a hundred of them, all dead.

"They're infected," piped Sven. Kristoff nodded, having seen this kind of thing many times before.

Anna looked on, wide-eyed. "Are they all frozen? What happened?"

"Ice wraiths," answered Kristoff in disgust. "Hold up here, Sven." Kristoff began to suit up. When he was done, he grabbed his flamethrower.

"I'm coming along!"

"No. No, you're not."

"You can't stop me."

She began to suit up as well. Kristoff figured there was no point in arguing. He knew how headstrong she could be. He just wanted to spare her from what was next. _Well, sometimes you just have to learn the hard way._

He exited the cab and waited. The bitter cold—the true Arendellian cold—penetrated his body, right down to the marrow. When Anna disembarked, wearing dark goggles and a protective magenta balaclava, he was positive that the face underneath the mask was expressing shock.

Confirming his belief, she began to shiver, almost violently, in spite of all the protective gear.

Kristoff breathed into his mic, "Are you okay?"

An answering squeak managed to stutter, "C-c-cold."

He nodded in affirmation, then motioned her to follow him, trudging through the icy field. Kristoff pressed forward … forward towards the charnel plain. "Sven, keep a sharp lookout for anything suspicious."

As they drew closer to the first cluster of animals, he could plainly see the reddish-gray wraiths, now as frozen as their hosts, enveloping the heads of the lopers. Grizzly red ice tendrils extended from the wraiths' maws, in some cases mixed with red rime.

He paused, tunneling deep into his past, taking yet another step toward embracing his roots. The words flowed from his lips with surprising strength:

" _In the name of Hela Half-Rotted, Lady Death,_

 _You who are the mistress of quiet endings,_

 _May their venom and viciousness die a straw death,_

 _May it rot away slowly, unnoticed until it goes_

 _Back into the earth from whence it came."_

He pulled the trigger on the flamethrower. A jet of viscous flaming liquid sprang forth, engulfing the frozen carrion. A shrill screech rose from the wraiths as they were momentarily reanimated. The noise shook Kristoff to his core.

Anna stumbled into him, holding him tightly. He held her close to his chest until the sounds died, until only the wind could be heard, and the quiet desolation of the open tundra returned.

When they were finished with the rest of the herd, and back aboard the snowcat, Kristoff asked, "Are you alright?"

A tight lipped Anna nodded in response. He wiped away the hoarfrost still clinging to her cheek.

"Kristoff …"

"Shh-shh-shh, Anna. I know …"

* * *

An unmarked shuttle landed without fanfare in Arendelle City, spawning the expected whirlwind of dust and debris. After the transport settled, a troop of men, all dressed in common ice harvester fare, disembarked the craft with seeming nonchalance. To the keen eye, one might have noted that none of their gear seemed especially worn. For example, missing was the ad hoc patchwork of insulating tape often found on veteran harvesters due to the necessity of mended their clothing on the ice fields.

Exiting last was a tall, imposing figure with close-cropped blond hair, and lean, weathered features. He, too, was dressed as a harvester, but carried himself with significant authority, as if he was used to having others obey him. He barked a series of orders to the men surrounding him, reinforcing the perception. Immediately they snapped into action, and soon the bay door of the shuttle was opened, revealing a tracked vehicle perched for deployment.

The vehicle sprang to life with a faint, but powerful, hum and proceeded down the gangway and onto the spaceport's tarmac. At first glance, one might have assumed that this was your typical snowcat employed for ice harvesting—it _was_ colored Arctic Orange—except it really didn't have much room for storing ice, and because it was well stocked with what looked like sophisticated navigation and surveillance equipment. In addition, the cost of that equipment alone would have put it out of reach of most, if not all, harvesters.

The men, numbering about a dozen or so, promptly gathered inside the vehicle in well coordinated fashion, as if this was something they had rehearsed often. With everyone onboard, the cat lurched forward, leaving the shuttle behind and arriving a short while later at Oaken's Trading Post.

* * *

The water was rich in algae, silica and other minerals, making it an opaque milky-blue. Kristoff leaned back into the thermal spring, dunking his head underwater and day-dreaming about Anna's voice. The temperature was perfect, perhaps six or seven degrees above his natural body's. He would bring Anna here once she woke from her slumber. It was a special treat that he had been saving as a surprise. Springs like this one were rare, not only because of their unique hue, but because the cocktail of algae and minerals made them especially revitalizing.

The one thing he surely learned about Anna was that she had no affinity for the cold; certainly ironic given her choice of planets to flee to.

He held his breath, soaking in the luxurious heat. When Kristoff resurfaced, he was alarmed to hear a warning cry from Sven, _"Kristoff!"_

 _Fog!_ Wispy tendrils of mist crept towards him. Just moments ago the air was clear! He rocketed out of the spring, sweeping up his clothing, his axe, and his railgun. Sprinting as fast as he could, he was soon onboard the snowcat, with the instance in-between a distant blur. Kristoff was vaguely aware that he was stark naked and dripping, but there wasn't much time for modesty. "Sven, what's going on? Jötnar?"

"I don't know. It's weird. Might be a single jötunn. I've never registered anything quite like this signature before," he announced.

"Okay, buddy, let's kick it and get the hell out of Hel." Expecting to find Anna asleep in the cab, he turned to Anna, only to find her convulsing. "Fuck!" Her eyes were rolled back into their sockets, her hair was in extreme disarray, standing on end as if she had been electrocuted.

Kristoff urged Sven on, as he cleared the area around her. He didn't want to restrain her in her current state, nor did he want her to hurt herself as she wildly flailed her arms and legs. Fuck, fuck, and double-fuck. Fog was enveloping the glade; Anna's arms and legs continued to thrash recklessly.

When they broke free of the mist and were on the open tundra, Anna's convulsions stopped abruptly. Kristoff knelt down beside her, holding her hand and stroking her forehead.

She spouted gibberish, just like in the time before. He cradled her in his arms, rocking her gently. Slowly, ever so slowly, her eyes gained focus. "Kristoff?"

"I'm here, Anna. I'm here," he repeated. He'd known this for some time, but this moment punctuated his feelings—nothing was more important to him now than the woman nestled in his arms.

"Kristoff, why are you breathing all over me? And naked?"

"Wha-wha?—Oh, shit!" He dove for his clothing.

* * *

 **A/N** \- Happy New Year! I tried to get this chapter posted sooner, but _things_ happened. Feel free to leave comments and/or reviews. I'm always happy to answer questions (when I can), so don't be afraid to PM.


	7. Chapter 7

**Gangr**

After advancing through the paneled door, Kaptajnløjnant DeVos's eyes settled on a man with red hair and friendly mutton-chops sitting behind the counter. The fingers of the man's hands confidently rested against each other, forming a steeple.

As his eyes wandered, DeVos noted a variety of wood carvings shaped in the form of alien creatures standing along the countertop. These, no doubt, were for sale.

"Hoo-hoo," the man greeted, his fingers waggling affably as DeVos walked further into the shop. "Welcome to Oaken's Trading Post, ja. Today only, we have a big blow-out on lutefisk."

The man, presumably Oaken, motioned with his large hand, directing DeVos's attention to a towering display stacked with some kind of fish. At least, DeVos thought it was fish—he couldn't be sure. Whatever it was, it certainly didn't look appetizing.

Robotic drones flew around the arrangement, projecting lights onto myriad jars. Neon letters advertised the contents as "Xtra Tasti!" DeVos frowned.

His attention returned to the man at the counter, but not before appraising his surroundings for all points of egress. "You're Oaken?"

"Ja, ja, that is me. And welcome. You will find the finest goods in all of Arendelle City here."

The Kaptajnløjnant took his time to survey the store, not because he was interested in any of Oaken's goods, but to double-check the area.

A few other _ice harvesters,_ the floor creaking under their weight, casually drifted into the shop behind DeVos, spreading indiscriminately throughout the store. Oaken tried to get their attention, waving frantically, but without any success.

The storekeeper then turned back toward DeVos, eyes live with enthusiasm. "Ooh, it looks like a good day for me. A lot of harvesters today. Ja?" His fingertips drummed against each other, while his head bobbed in a nod.

DeVos grinned; some might have called that grin sinister.

A few more men sauntered in through the front door a little while later. The crash of the closing door echoed in the confines of the building as it slammed shut. DeVos surreptitiously signaled to the men with hands casually placed behind his back.

The men, now loosely organized into four-man fire-teams, moved to preassigned positions as organically as possible. Exit and entrance ways were covered.

"I'm looking for a cryo-transport …" declared DeVos.

"Oh, then you are a very, very, lucky man." Oaken began silently clapping his hands together. "I just happen to have a cryo-transport for sale, two million credits."

"What?"

"Two million and I throw in a visit to my sauna."

"I don't think so."

Oaken nodded his head, still smiling. "You are what they call a 'tough cookie.' Ja?" He wiped his brow with his hand in mock frustration. " _Hu!_ This is a big big sacrifice, because, I tell you, these things sell like _krumkakes_ … I throw in a case of lutefisk. Extra tasty!"

"What?" DeVos's eyebrows knitted together in puzzlement. "No."

"Sun balm of my own invention?"

"You don't seem to get it. I'm not here to purchase anything," declared DeVos.

Oaken's face momentarily fell but rebounded with a smile. "Ah, you are such a tease. I do not do this for just anyone, but you seem like a nice fellow." The big man sighed. "My final offer, one and a half million credits. No lutefisk."

"Listen, Oakley …"

"It is Oaken."

"Listen, Orkin ... there seems to be a monumental misunderstanding here."

"Misunderstanding … Vhat kind of misunderstanding?"

DeVos curled his lips. "Here's the deal. You're going to hand that cryo-transport over to me, answer a few questions, and then … maybe … the two of us can part happily."

"Vhat did you say?"

"You heard me. The cryo-transport is property of the Planet Isles. That makes it stolen goods, and I'm here to _confiscate_ the unit."

Oaken's demeanor grew shrewd. "You have ID and proper documents?"

The Kaptajnløjnant, trying to maintain his patience, reached into his long coat and retrieved identification along with supporting documentation. "Here."

Oaken hummed as he thumbed through the pages. "Hmm, mhmm, hmm-hmm." His eyes sparkled with delight as he reached the final page. "Hu-hoo! This document is not notarized. How do I know it is not a forgery?"

"Those documents are supported under intergalactic law, my friend. Look at the seals imprinted on each page. Please don't try and hustle me."

"Are you implying I am trying to swindle you? Ja, we do have a problem." Oaken rose from behind the counter—all seven feet of him. Gone was his affable demeanor, instead it was replaced with roiling menace.

As Oaken reached for DeVos, the Kaptajnløjnant deftly stepped aside and managed to divert the big man's hand and pin it to the counter. One of the wooden tokens fell over on its side.

Oaken's eyes bulged and his face flushed as he unsuccessfully struggled to free it from DeVos's grip. The storekeeper couldn't even manage to move his hand a single millimeter, despite their contrast in size.

At the same time, the dozen ice harvesters milling in the shop instantly stopped moving and came alert. They stood poised and ready, their overcoats outlining what only could be hidden weapons ready to be drawn. DeVos noted Oaken's eyes darting to and fro, assessing his situation until a certain understanding revealed itself in his countenance.

The Kaptajnløjnant gave him a crooked smile. "You're a smart man. You're not going to give me any trouble—are you?"

Oaken slowly nodded in response.

"Good. Like I said, I'm here to confiscate the transport. Cooperate with me and we might just part happily." He let Oaken's hand go and pulled up an image on his comm unit. "Tell me everything you know about this man."

The storekeeper's eye's rounded. "T-That is Kristoff Bjorgman, ja?"

This time it was DeVos's turn to nod. "So I've been told. Like I said, your complete cooperation in this matter would be greatly appreciated," he wryly added. He pulled Oaken's head down to meet his, close enough so that his breath could easily be felt on the other man's red cheeks. "In fact, I expect nothing less."

* * *

The vista had changed as they traveled further north. Gone were the icy plains, replaced instead by shallow peaks that framed the path ahead. It had been several hours since Kristoff's awkward predicament. He had hastily gotten dressed amidst an uncomfortable silence.

Anna was staring at his feet.

"What?"

"Nothing …"

"What do you mean, nothing. You're staring at my feet."

She casually placed her index finger against the side of her mouth. "Hmm, I guess what they say about shoe size is true."

Kristoff felt his face flush. "What exactly is _that_ supposed to mean?" He could tell Anna was about to reply and cut her off. "Um, never mind. Don't … I mean … _don't_ answer that question."

She raised both eyebrows, then leaned back into her seat, crossing her arms. "You know, I noticed that, for the most part, the Trallis are nudists. I didn't realize that that rubbed off on you, Kristoff." Her face wore a broad grin.

The coffee he was drinking came sputtering out of his mouth. "Fu … " He looked at Anna briefly, who was already giving him a look of disapproval. "Fungle."

"Are we back to that again, Christopher?"

Feeling exasperated, he attempted to clean up the mess he just made. He replied, "You're … you're"—a quick glance allowed him to observe her wearing the smirk of total victory. What managed to come out of his mouth next was a series of unintelligible syllables that sounded something like "Grdmd-frnk-frakn-grr-sible."

"Nope. Not a word. And neither is fungle."

He ignored her remark and continued, "I told you about the fog—right? More to the point, what about the seizure that you've said absolutely _nothing_ about? Instead, here you are giving me a hard time about being, um … clothing deficient, and I still have no idea what went down just a few hours ago. I'm the one who should be finger pointing here."

Anna fidgeted for a second, but then firmly looked back at Kristoff. "Says the kissing bandit."

"Arrgh!" He facepalmed with both hands—at least his coffee mug was out of the way. "Sven, back me up on this, buddy."

"I'm busy," came Sven's reply.

* * *

The upcoming terrain grew more mountainous, with a mixture of dead, dormant and active volcanoes. Most of the elevated terrain was thick with snow and ice, reflecting the sun as if scattered with bright jewels. However, the active formations were even more spectacular … bluish gray smoke rose from random peaks, and molten lava meandered down their slopes, reacting, sometimes violently, with their surroundings. Often seen dotting these volcanoes were thermal enclaves teeming with moss laden trees that shone with their characteristic azure splendor.

They entered the scenic landscape via a thick stream of ice that, under warmer circumstances, would surely have been a thundering river.

Anna's head moved side to side. "This is all really pretty, and everything, but where are we going? And why?"

Kristoff was actually in the process of reviewing some notes based on a conversation he had had with the Trallis. The channel had been secure for obvious reasons—conversation had been in High Trallis, a language that remained unknown to anyone, save the Trallis themselves. Anna's question broke him out of his reverie. "Huh?"

"I said, where are we going?"

"Hmm, maybe I'll tell you when you start explaining your seizures. Quid pro quo, and all that." He knew he was being snarky, but his impulse to get to the bottom of this couldn't be suppressed any longer.

Anna face grew stern and she was about to retort, when a faint glimmer outside the snowcat caught Kristoff's eye. "Hold that thought. Sven, stop here."

"We're not finished with this conversation," she responded.

He ignored her, grabbed his gear and began to suit up, while Anna got up from her seat, looking annoyed.

"Now what?" She peered outside, through the front window, transitioning to an expression of bewilderment and, perhaps, curiosity.

Kristoff grunted as he pulled his gloves on. He wasn't sure what to tell her since he was only operating on a hunch.

"Hey, wait a minute. You're not going anywhere without me." Her hands were placed firmly against her hips, highlighting the look of determination painted across her face.

This was pure Anna. Kristoff realized it was useless to argue with her once she had that look on her face. In addition, he was also feeling perturbed by her refusal to open up to him, and so he figured he'd avoid a potential confrontation. "Fine, hurry up," he nearly snapped. He waited a few minutes as Anna quickly donned her snow gear. A part of him felt guilty for staring at her as she pulled on her boots—even with her bulky clothing she was startlingly beautiful.

Still, he couldn't help but grumble as he continued to ponder Anna's mysterious seizures, and her continuous side-stepping of the issue.

Outside, Kristoff walked his way in front of the snowcat and crouched down low so he could examine the terrain. Anna came right to his side and bent down beside him.

"What do you see?" she yelled at his ear. The winds were surprisingly stronger than what could be found in the lowlands, although it was certainly nothing compared to those of the Eternal Vortex.

Kristoff brushed at the surface of the ice laden scape, humming to himself. A short moment later, he yelled back, "Cat tracks. There's someone out here."

Because of the ice hardened surface, the impressions were subtle, but Kristoff's experience and keen ability allowed him to note the aberration in the terrain. Based on his knowledge of Arendelle-255's weather, this particular ice formation, and what he knew about snowcats, he judged that the vehicle had passed through here within the last day.

He motioned to Anna to get back aboard Sven. The two of them trudged back to the warmth and comfort of their snowcat.

* * *

They had been traveling for some time now. Anna was huddled in the back of the cab, sulking. He had pressed her on the issue of the seizures, but she refused to answer meaningfully. The best he could get from her was an emphatic "I don't know!" yet her body language indicated otherwise.

Of course, he felt bad for upsetting her, even though he had the right to know what was going on. With professional soldiers on the loose, a bounty on their heads, and the innate dangers of the planet, he needed to know if there was something sparking this.

So they had retreated to separate corners. Kristoff kept a sharp lookout for any other signs of the unexpected, and Anna would occasionally glare at him from her corner in the back.

He focused on the issue of the tracks. It was rare to see harvesters out this way, although, it did happen. He wondered about the ship traveling from Crux. According to the Trallis, they had landed two days ago. Unless the crew from the ship flew into Kristoff's area carrying a snowcat, it was unlikely that the tracks were theirs.

He wasn't going to rule out the possibility, however improbable. _Always expect the unexpected_ was a harsh lesson he had learned from his childhood.

No, more likely, it was some random harvester … still, that could prove dangerous, since the Duke had levied his bounty on them.

He stole a glance toward Anna. She was studiously ignoring him. He had to admit, he had a hard time understanding her. What was she hiding?

Since their argument, she had put hair back in twin-plaits after wearing her hair down for the last couple of days. He didn't know if she was sending him a message through some secret sign language, or if she just changed her hairstyle on a whim. Abstractly, he realized his train of thought was bordering on the absurd. The whole issue with the seizures was driving him nuts.

"Anna." She shifted her head and flinched when she saw his look. "Level with me. What's going on?"

"Whaddya mean?"

"You know _exactly_ what I mean." He instantly regretted the words that came out of his mouth, particularly the acerbic tone. Maybe it was just the pent up frustration acting out?

Her brow furrowed, but then her features relaxed. "I _don't_ like your tone of voice."

Her voice trailed off, sing-song like. Kristoff was ready to explode. He paused for a second, and excused himself, heading toward the WC located in the back of Sven's cab if only to calm down. When he returned a few minutes later, he observed Anna looking at him strangely.

"Kristoff?"

"Yeah?"

"What's in that box?"

"Um, what box?" He attempted to keep his cool.

"You know, the box you buried deep in your bag … the wooden box with the funny figures on it."

His hair stood on edge as he looked more closely at Anna, only to notice her holding the Odin box in her hands. It was open.

"H-how did you do that? It's got a combo-lock on it?" He noticed that her face was flushed, not from embarrassment, but from something else entirely ...

"Anna!" Standing up and approaching her, his eyes widened even further as he noticed an open foil wrapper. Within the wrapper, a small dark nugget was exposed. "Sven, head for the nearest oasis! Now!"

"Kristoff …"

"What did you do, Anna?"

"I w-was mad at you. I knew you were hiding stuff in that bag. W-when I saw the box, I t-thought it might be something g-good in there. I only s-scratched off a tiny piece." Her lips began to tremble. "It … it tasted terrible." A line of drool dripped down the side of her mouth.

"No-no-no-no! Anna, by all the gods! Why?" He grabbed her by the shoulders. It took all his will not to shake her.

"K-kris, you're s-scaring me." Her teeth began to chatter. Her eyes dilated. "What was in that s-stuff?" Foam gathered at her mouth and her whole body began to shake.

"Sven, ETA?" His heart was pounding wildly. "What have you done? Gods, Anna! The _gangr .._. Why do you have to be so damn impulsive? Why!"

"We're right on top of a glade now," announced Sven.

Anna's face was crimson, almost purple. Kristoff's heart sank to the floor. _Fuck!_

As the snowcat came to a halt, he hoisted her over his shoulder, grabbed his axe and propelled himself out the door. He scanned his surroundings until his eyes settled on the thick leaves of a certain plant amongst the lush vegetation.

Broad strides quickly brought him and his load to the foot of the plant. Oblong green fruit laid at its base, partially hidden by the expansive leaves.

Kristoff brought his axe to bare, severing the fruit at the stem. The air around him filled with a putrid stench as he peeled back the fruit's hairy rind by using the blade of his axe.

Placing her in a sitting position beside the plant, Kristoff forced a near comatose Anna's jaws open. He pushed the fleshy, stinking pulp into her mouth. She proceeded to gag.

"Swallow, Anna. Chew and swallow!" Anna didn't respond. "Odin! Hear my words … let her live. Let her live and I'll return to the old ways …"

He tried to move her jaw for her. A moan emitted from Anna's lips as she eventually complied, only to pull away from him, convulsing as she projectile vomited into the foliage. Tears ran down her cheeks, beads of sweat gathered across her brow. Her face was a livid purple.

Still, Kristoff thought, this was good. He held her, just under her abdomen as she continued to retch. Pretty soon, the contents of her stomach had voided, although she continued with dry heaves.

He wiped her mouth on his sleeve, twisted her to turn her around. Her eyes were glazed over. She convulsed once more and then her body shuddered and went completely limp. Simultaneously, her face became ghastly pale.

"Anna?" Kristoff bent over her, looking for signs of life. His eyes began to well with tears. "Anna, don't do this. _Don't_ …" He pulled her body in close to his chest. "I know you're tougher than this."

"Aw, how adorable," came a deep voice from behind, a voice Kristoff recognized. "She looks plum dead though, Bjorgman. Did ya kill her? Too bad, 'cause she would have made for a tasty treat." The whistle that followed caused Kristoff to bristle. "Well, looks like half my job's done. Dead or alive, says the Duke. Dead … or alive."

"Dirty Eddie …" Kristoff growled. He didn't need to turn since he recognized the voice. Dirty Eddie had a reputation, not because of his chest length beard, but because of the fatal accidents his partners always suffered at the end of an ice run.

"Oh ho! Ya remember. I thought it might be yous when the Duke said it was a 'Christopher.'" He laughed. "Nows all I needs for ya to do is carry little missy's body back to my snowcat. And then I'll be takin' care of the rest, if ya knows what I mean."

Dirty Eddie snickered. "Oh, and no quick moves. I've gots a railgun aimed straight at yer head."

* * *

 **A/N** _\- Has Kristoff's journey come to an untimely end? And what of Anna? Does her story simply culminate with a whimper? Well, at least Oaken got what he deserved. Two million credits ... Ha! You crook!_

 _Thanks to Cattleworks and JubileePretentiousName for their input!_


	8. Chapter 8

**An Unexpected Ally**

Kristoff cursed himself for allowing a dirtbag like Eddie to get the drop on him. If he hadn't been so intent on saving Anna, he wouldn't have been caught off guard. Still, the fact that he was preoccupied was no excuse. _Fool!_

"Hurry on up. Her body's still warm and I'se got plans to take a turn at the gates, if you knows what I mean. She's too pretty to pass up, even if she is dead." Eddie snickered, nearly choking on his own humor. When he finally caught his breath, he added, "And I mays even takes a turn at you, although you ain't nearly as pretty."

His coarse laughter reverberated as his footsteps came closer. Kristoff spat on the ground, eyeing the axe Pabbie had gifted him. It lay near his knee, obscured by a broad leaf.

Up until the point that Anna had become entangled in his life, he had kept a low profile. Physical conflict was avoided unless absolutely necessary. He even accepted the occasional beat down when circumstances warranted—all in order to avoid undue notoriety.

He had hoped to start a new life for himself, but Fate, apparently, had other plans.

Still holding Anna in his arms, Kristoff tensed for action. However, an unexpected turn altered his immediate plans. Faint tendrils of mist meandered just above the ground, pooling at his feet. The hair on the nape of his neck bristled. _Jötnar?_

"What the fuck?" muttered Dirty Eddie, no doubt noticing the creeping tendrils as well.

A subtle motion caught Kristoff's attention; Anna's eyes fluttered, then opened wide. The pupils were unnaturally dilated to the point where her irises seemed to have disappeared. Her nostrils flared, and he felt the mildest of shudders from her. Internally, he registered relief, although his concern was still there—she looked as if she was lost deep in a spectral world. The condensation grew thicker.

He could hear Dirty Eddie approach even closer, no doubt to get a better bearing on him with his railgun, especially in light of the building mist.

The cloudy haze thickened further, slowly spiraling up his legs. Kristoff steadied his breathing, allowing the conditioning from his youth to take over and guide him. Eddie's footfalls placed him at a distance of less than two meters and closing.

A sharp breath from Anna broke the silence. The gathering vapor grew into a heavy fog, thick and damp, enveloping him and his surroundings en masse, as if sparked by a catalyst. Dirty Eddie gasped.

In that instance, years of training took over. Letting Anna silently slip to the ground, Kristoff exploded violently, moving fast, too fast for any normal human being. He hurled himself through gray, obfuscating clouds, knowing instinctively where Eddie stood.

His first task was to eliminate the threat of the railgun. Pivoting on the ball of one foot, he brought his other up against Eddie's arm in a deftly executed crescent kick which caused the weapon to fly from Eddie's grasp, away from its intended target. With a muffled thud, it harmlessly landed somewhere on the ground, hidden by the intense fog.

Kristoff's left hand carried the axe that had been laying on the ground. He screamed the name of the Allfather, "Odin!" with controlled rage as the blade was driven cleanly across Dirty Eddie's throat. The blow was fierce, nearly separating the head from its body in a flourish of blood.

In that instance, Eddie's face registered shock, eyes plainly expressing bewilderment. His body crumpled to the ground as if he were nothing but a mannequin filled with sand. Kristoff struck again at the prone body and watched the head roll away, mouth moving silently until it was shrouded in heavy mist. Blood spewed from the prone body for a second or two, then stopped abruptly.

Wheeling back toward Anna, Kristoff turned only to find that she was lost in the thickset haze. The telltale bellowing of Jötnar heralded danger's approach. Kristoff squelched his emotions as he retraced his steps, moving rapidly, but with vigilant caution, until he could just make out her crown of copper hair.

* * *

A single strand of copper-colored hair … The Kaptajnløjnant sat contemplating the results from the DNA scan as the bellicose popinjay before him continued to drone on and on about his recent encounter with the _"freckled face of death."_

The Duke paced back and forth in his office, his mustache quivering in rhythm with his lips. "And that peasant—don't let her pretty face fool you, I could tell right away she was nothing more than a plebe—had the audacity to audition for a job as a princess! Can you believe it?"

Shaking his head to appease the Duke, DeVos returned to his musing. They had found the hair strand in the cryo-transport acquired from Oaken's. The results from the _Grendel's_ lab, limited as they were, confirmed that this woman lived a life of privilege. DeVos felt no need to enlighten the so-called "Duke." Whatever she was, she was no peasant, that was certain. Prince Hans wouldn't have bothered to send members of his personal guard to dispatch a _nobody._

In fact, the results from the scan proved intriguing. It showed that the subject had been routinely taking some exotic drug, which DeVos puzzled over. The analysis onboard the ship wasn't capable of identifying it. _What exactly was she taking?_ Curiously, the hair sample showed that the subject had been off the drug for at least a week.

Meanwhile, the Brimsby character continued to spew his nonsense. The little man strutted like a wounded peacock inside the confines of his garish office, detailing how he had placed a bounty on this _Roxanna's_ head. "And that big blond oaf, too! I want to see them both dead!"

DeVos nodded again. It occurred to him that Weselton Brimsby might just be the tool he was looking for … Call it serendipity. _Wouldn't it be unfortunate if this Roxanna was killed by a bounty hunter before my squad could rescue her?_ It was all he could do to keep from breaking into a grin.

Later, he could file a report that he had warned the Duke to drop the bounty. Naturally, the old man would have an _accident_ before he could be brought to trial.

As he listened further to the details of the Duke's assault, DeVos's mind begin to assemble the clues: _Privileged … redhead … outrage over a royal incestuous lesbian pairing … Corona Borealis … Rox-ANNA …_ His heart nearly stopped. _Min Gud!_ _Could it be?_ In a sudden epiphany, DeVos realized that this woman wasn't just any ordinary woman of means. Prince Hans wanted Anna, Princess of Corona Borealis, dead! Wasn't that his fiancée?

The stakes were much higher than he had realized … _Of course, it all makes sense now … or at least partially._ No matter, DeVos was determined to carry out the mission, even if it meant his own sacrifice. Every member of Prince Hans' guard was willing to put their lives on the line for him. Like his men, DeVos had sworn an oath and was bound by it.

"Tell me, Mr. Brimsby, where exactly were the _criminals_ last seen?"

"They headed north. My network informs me that their snowcat was en route to the Eternal Vortex, a desperate act. Desperate! They're most likely nothing but frozen mash, but some of those ice harvester types are instinctively wily, even if they're nothing but impossibly dumb brutes. With that red headed vixen at the helm, I wouldn't be surprised if they're still alive." The Duke plopped into his chair, "Ach! My neck!" He massaged the afflicted zone, then turned to DeVos, looking at him with the cunning of a reptile, "but a man like you has the means to find and track a snowcat in the wilderness. I hear there's a sleek Corvette orbiting Arendelle-255 right now. A warship, no doubt, would be loaded with advanced surveillance equipment." Weselton Brimbsy offered a sly grin. "And that information could be leaked to the locals, who, obviously, would be more than eager to deliver the fugitives, _dead_ or alive, back to Arendelle City."

With the last sentence, DeVos, returned the Duke's grin. It was equally reptilian.

* * *

 _Kristoff Bjorgman …_ Crown Princess Elsa of Corona Borealis sat tensely at the table alongside her father, mulling over her sister's kidnapper's name. "Papa, we need to find Anna. We _must find_ her!"

Light from several narrow, paned windows cast deep shadows over King Agnar. Elsa's father was a handsome man, with hair and mustache the same color as her sister's. He sat pensively, stroking the base of his chin. "I agree, of course. But we don't have many leads. Kristoff Bjorgman is a non-entity as far as our records are concerned, even with the information from our security forces. In fact, I don't even know how Prince Hans determined that this man was instrumental in Anna's kidnapping? The man's nearly a ghost. That, in itself, has me worried."

Elsa's brow furrowed and she could feel the accumulated rage she had been holding in check surge. "I could make a visit to Crux. I've never met Prince Hans personally."

"God, no, Snowflake. We don't want to start an intergalactic incident. If the prince is hiding something … Well, we both know your capabilities."

"I can keep myself in check."

"Not when it comes to Anna. You know it's true."

"Papa, we have no choice. If there's any information that's being withheld, I'll find it soon enough. I promise I won't do anything rash."

King Agnar eyed his daughter carefully, and acknowledged her sentiment with a nod. "Alright."

"I'll need a company of Marines," she added.

"What? Why?"

"As soon as I'm done interviewing the prince. I'll be headed to Arendelle-255. This Bjorgman fellow will pay dearly if he so much as harms a hair of our Anna's head. Also, Papa, I think it'll put some pressure on Crux, especially if we show some force by entering Epsilon Crucis with the _Fjord._ Anna, did, afterall disappear on their watch. _"_

The king groaned heavily. "We're supposed to be strengthening ties with Crux. The _Fjord's_ a battleship. Don't you think that that might be a bit heavy handed?"

"No, Papa, I do not."

* * *

"Anna! We need to get you out of here. Now!" He spoke to her out loud, needing to believe that she was okay—that she would recover, even though she was still in a fragile state. With that in mind, he lifted a still weak Anna from the ground, as delicately as possible given the urgency of the circumstances. His first thought was to retrieve Dirty Eddie's railgun. His mind blitzed through all his options, rapidly weighing each exit strategy.

In the end, he figured he'd be better off heading directly back toward Sven, forgoing the search for the railgun in the thick fog. He turned back toward his snowcat, carefully navigating his way through low visibility.

 _Dirty Eddie's snowcat must be out here somewhere_ , Kristoff reasoned. _He may have come here with a partner_ _._ Based on Eddie's reputation, it only made sense that he'd bring a lone companion, since having more than one could lead to complications should they stumble on some payload.

He had slung Anna over his shoulder, holding her in place with one arm as the other carried his axe. Anna murmured something he couldn't make out. " _Msh-msh-melo_ ," was what it sounded like. _Huh? What are you trying to say, Anna?_

Fingers clawed into his back, and then … the largest jötunn Kristoff had ever seen appeared from out of the fog, blocking his way. It was a hulking mass, easily over four meters in height, and as white as the snow on an Arendellian mountain top—an albino abomination, the first he'd ever encountered.

It was possibly an act of desperation ... Kristoff aimed for the monstrosity's single red eye, and was about to throw his axe when Anna screamed, "No!"

 _No? What just happened?_ Uncharacteristically, he hesitated, knowing he may have cost them their lives, but somehow he felt compelled to heed Anna's cry.

Anna struggled against his body, feebly kicking her legs and flailing her arms. Meanwhile, the jötunn stood still, it's single eye focused on both of them.

"Friend," Anna softly declared, and Kristoff was more than confused _._ "What?" None of this made any sense to him. Why hadn't the jötunn attacked. What did Anna mean by 'friend'? Kristoff's world was upside down.

"She's a friend," she repeated with labored breath.

It _was_ a 'she', Kristoff observed, making the jötunn's size even more incredible. Could Anna actually be referring to the monster standing before them? His grip on his axe didn't relax, as he cautiously inched forward in the direction of his snowcat.

The albino jötunn's red eye followed their progress. Kristoff, in turn, treaded carefully. Surprisingly, the surrounding mist began to dissipate, making it easier to see.

" _Marsh-mallow,"_ Anna breathed, her voice a little clearer.

"Huh?"

"Her name is _Marshmallow_."

"You're kidding—right?" With his eyes still glued to the imposing figure standing just beyond them, he continued to move forward. "And how would you even know that?"

"Talk later. Feel crummy …"

Marshmallow, if that was even the jötunn's name, continued to track their progress, eventually turning away. It trumpeted a harsh cry, sending a chill down Kristoff's spine, before moving off to the location of Dirty Eddie's body.

* * *

 **A/N** _\- Once again, I suck. Between my beta responsibilities, and trying to get in shape for an epic mountain biking adventure, I haven't been getting much opportunity to write._ _Thanks to Cattleworks for their input!_

As always, comments and reviews are appreciated!


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